The Marvel Academy for Gifted Youth
by luvxas37
Summary: AU: The Avengers, along with some other characters from their worlds, are high schoolers attending the Marvel Academy for Gifted Youth. Romance and drama ensues, but the Academy has a bigger plan. Disclaimer: I don't own anything even though I wish I did.
1. Chapter 1

_How do think I'm going to get along, without you, when you're gone? You took me for everything that I had, and kicked me out on my own…_

"Tony."

_Are you happy, are you satisfied, how long can you stand the heat? Out of the doorway the bullets rip to the sound of the beat!_

"Tony!"

"Ahh!" Tony Stark flung the earphone out of his left ear. "What?"

"We're almost here."

"Awesome," he exhaled sharply. He lifted his head off the tinted back window and looked outside. The scene hadn't changed at all during his Queen-induced nap. They were still driving on an empty countryside road, surrounded by lush, green hills cascading in every direction. The sky was still a pale shade of blue and the sun's obnoxious glare, he realized, was still radiating into his eyes. He took the Oakleys hanging off his shirt and put them on.

"It's really not going to be that bad, Tony," Happy's muffled voice broke out again through the seat divider.

"It's boarding school."

"So?"

"_So_ it's just another way for Daddy to get me out of the house as soon as possible," he explained, irritated.

"It's going to be a good experience."

"A good experience? Ok, lets think about it. It's gonna be me, locked up in a castle with a bunch of socially-impotent nerds for a year."

"I'm sure not all of them are nerds."

"The Marvel Academy for Gifted Youth. It sounds like a freak fest on its own."

"Well, you got in. So they can't all be bad."

"But I'm a genius."

"I'm sure there's smart people who like to party."

Tony paused. "Name one."

He understood Happy's passive silence as a sign of victory. He allowed himself a quick smirk, but that was it. He couldn't let himself be unprepared for any argument his chauffeur would throw out next.

But Happy didn't decide to argue. "Try to look on the bright side." Tony raised his eyebrows, but listened. "You're on your own, no parents, no security. You'll charm every professor the moment you step in the door. You'll find a way to fuck up all the rules so you can do whatever you want. They're not all going to be nerds…" Happy could feel Tony roll his eyes. "They're not _all _going to be nerds so you can find some kids to have a decent conversation with. Plus, the school's international and European chicks are _hot_."

Tony smiled. Happy, always the one trying to make him a little less pissed off at the world. He hoped he was right. The freedom better be worth the freaks. At least he knew everyone would love him. After all, he was _the _Tony Stark. "Those girls better not disappoint," he chuckled and turn his head toward the window again. The hills were getting lower and the grass was thinning out to reveal the ground's rocky flesh. The salty stench of seawater filled the limousine and Tony could spot the seagulls floating slightly above the horizon. Then, emerging from the green dunes like a modern-day Atlantis, appeared the castle. It was massive, complied completely out limestone, and much more expansive than it had appeared on the admissions packet sent from the school. It was rustic, probably medieval, but even the antiquated spires seemed contemporary when set in the gleaming English sun. It's nice, he said to himself. Decent enough for his taste. Tony bit his lower lip. Now all he needed was for the other students to live up to his standards.

X

Natasha Romanoff looked around the crowded lobby for a clock. Although she'd arrived at the Marvel Academy early that morning, it hadn't occurred to her to get her schedule from the administrative office. Instead, she'd wasted her day touring the campus, organizing what few clothes she had in her room, and waiting for her roommate—who had not yet shown. By the time she'd finished her salad in Marvel's state-of-the-art cafeteria, it was already 2:30. Thinking she had enough time to get her schedule before student orientation, she got in line and waited. But for what seemed like the past hour, some jackass was holding up the queue by changing every single class on his schedule. Besides him, there were only two other people in front of her, two people—Natasha was sure—would take much less time than him.

She spied a clock on the wall across main entrance. 3:25. She still had 35 minutes before orientation began. She crossed her arms. He better be done soon.

Finally, Natasha heard a "Thank you very much, ma'am. I really appreciate your help," from the front of the line. Thank god, she thought. She stepped forward, only to almost be pummeled in the face with a red duffle bag. _B'lyad_, she muttered under her breath. It was the same idiot who'd held up the line.

The guy turned around, flashing a toothy grin at Natasha and the blonde in front of her. "Excuse me, ladies," he said coyly. The blonde grinned and batted her lashes and even through his sunglasses, Natasha could she him wink in the girl's direction. She searched her mind for some witty American saying to tell him off, but the boy strutted away before she could say a word. What is he, Natasha thought while he disappeared into the crowd, the poster child for Ralph Lauren? He looked as if he'd walked right off the golf course straight into the boarding school lobby, sunglasses included. She wouldn't have been surprised if he'd brought along a tennis racquet or a couple golf clubs. But seriously, she thought, who the fuck wears sunglasses indoors?

"Oh my god, I didn't know _Tony Stark_ was going here!" a voice distracted Natasha. She turned back toward the front of line, only to spot the blonde looking longingly toward the dorm hallway.

"Tony Stark?"

"The guy that just talked to us!" Her eyes glittered in awe. You mean the guy that almost knocked me in the face with his bag full of polos, Natasha thought. Expecting her to react, the blonde waited for a response. When she gave none, the girl asked, "Wait, you don't know who _Tony Stark _is?"

Natasha shrugged. She already hated the way this girl said _Tony Stark_.

"He's only the heir to like the richest enterprise in the world. His dad is, like, a billionaire and he has a house in every major city." Then, she added, "And the best part?" She lowered her voice, "I heard he's single."

"Wow," Natasha said, unimpressed. She'd met men with as much money and power as this Tony Stark character and every single one was an arrogant, self-obsessed, heartless jerk. And judging by his attitude, this guy was no different.

The blonde was still looking in the direction that Tony had walked away. "I just can't believe he's here at Marvel…" her voice trailed off. Then, abruptly regaining her composure, she turned back to Natasha. "Oh, sorry I haven't introduced myself, I'm Christine." She extended her manicured hand.

"Natasha," she replied, forcing a smile.

"Where are you from?" Christine inquired.

"Volgograd." The blonde showed no facial recognition. "Russia."

"Oh! That's really cool! I'm from LA so I guess it's a lot warmer than from where you're from."

Natasha chuckled. "Yeah, I guess." As if she hadn't heard _that _from every American she'd ever met.

The boy in front of Christine thanked the administrator and left with his schedule, leaving Christine at the front of the line. "Christine Everhart," she said as the woman stabbed at the computer keys. "So, what grade are you in?"

"Tenth."

"Oh, me too! Maybe we'll have some classes together!"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Christine Everhart," the administrator reiterated, handing her the shiny white piece of paper.

Christine thanked the woman, then said, "I'll see you around, ok?"

"Yeah, definitely," Natasha forced another smile as the blonde walked away. "Natasha Romanoff," she told the woman at the desk. She waited, enjoying the quiet she was left with. After receiving her schedule, she rendered a brief "Thanks" and walked toward the dormitory hallway.

Earlier that morning, the hallway leading to girls' and boys' dorms had been basically empty, apart from the few early birds and loners sneaking around. Now, there was barely room to squeeze through the rows of people leaning against both walls. The further down the hallway she walked, the more the claustrophobia seemed in sink in. Finally, she reached end of the tunnel and climbed the grisly staircase leading to the female sector. The hallway on the second floor was wider, but strangely, it was less crowded. There were barely any girls walking around, despite all the new arrivals; even Christine was nowhere to be seen. As Natasha reached her dorm, she heard a shuffling coming from one of the rooms. When she came closer, she realized the door to her own dorm was open. She peered inside, only to see a tall girl with long black hair looking back at her.

"Hey! Are you Natasha?" the girl asked.

"Yeah."

The girl put out her hand. "I'm Sif," she said, smiling. Natasha shook her hand. The shake was firm and direct, not the flimsy, girlish hand-hug Christine had given her.

"So I guess we're roommates?"

"All year, baby!" Sif chuckled. "Hey, do you mind if I take this bed?"

"No, go ahead." Natasha leaned against a cabinet as she flung her suitcase onto the bunk. She stared at the ground while her roommate unpacked. "Hey, did you know Tony Stark's going here?"

Without turning around, Sif asked, "Who's that?"

Natasha smiled. Maybe this school wasn't comprised entirely of douchebags and ditzes. "I don't know. Just some rich guy."

X

"This is all your fault."

"I'm not the pathetic invalid who held up the line."

"You began to pack your belongings this morning."

"And?"

"And we were late for our appointed flight time because of your stupidity."

"Thor and Loki Odinson," the woman at the administration desk proclaimed, holding out two pieces of laminated paper in her craggily hand.

"Thank you, ma'am. Now would you be kind enough to direct us toward the dormitories?" Thor inquired.

"They're down that hallway, you dumbass," Loki intervened quietly.

Both Thor and the administrator ignored him; the woman had truly not heard his remark, Thor just chose not to listen to his little brother. "Just go through that hallway to your left," she pointed toward an entryway where dozens of students were crowded, "go all the way down, then take the staircase to your right: that houses all the male dormitories."

"Thank you, ma'am. We appreciate it," he smiled.

"Just remember, orientation starts in 15 minutes."

"Alright, thank you very much." Thor grabbed his 40-pound duffle bag off the floor and started walking toward the hall. He could feel Loki's insolent steps following close behind; he allowed his brother to pass him up by a few inches, then slapped him in the back of the head.

"Ow!" Loki winced. "What the fuck?"

"Orientation starts in 15 minutes," Thor repeated the old woman's words.

"So? We have more than enough time to find our dorms and head over there."

"We could have been there already if not for your imbecility."

"So the plane departed without us. We got another one, and now we're here and we're _fine_." He paused briefly to examine his brother stern face. "What is your problem?"

Thor thought about the issue. "We just arrived and trouble is already on your heels."

"You think I'm going to ruin this school for you?" His brother did not respond. "Just because I might get expelled does not mean you will."

"I promised Father I would keep you as my responsibility."

"As if you can _command _the things I do and do not do."

Thor gritted his teeth as he entered the hallway. Loki was correct, of course. He had never been able to control any of his little brother's antics. The boy was born fearless and any value for authority he had ever held was lost on the first day of kindergarten. He had been expelled from all six schools he'd attended in the past two years. But by some miracle—or curse, Thor had not yet decided—Loki received an invitation from the prestigious academy where he himself had been accepted. In part by the stupidity of the administrators, he had assumed, his brother was enrolled in the greatest academic opportunity of his life. And he had already done his best to screw it up.

They exited the hallway and made their way up the rusty black staircase on their right. It was much quieter there, practically silent when compared to the bustling lobby. Thor looked grimly down the hall with dorms branching off in both directions. Before he proceeded, he turned promptly to his brother. "Loki," he sighed, "can you please promise not to attempt to get expelled here?"

"Why? Would Father be upset?" he uttered sarcastically.

"He would. But I don't want you to lose out on this."

"Is this becoming an emotional moment, Thor?"

"I am serious." He looked intently at his brother. "Please promise you won't try."

Loki smirked. "I promise. But you have to promise me something as well."

"Anything."

"Promise me you won't go all 'knight in shining armor' on me this year."

"What?"

"I can take care of myself, Thor. I don't need big brother trying to help me up every time I fall."

"Fine." He took a deep breath. "Deal?"

"Deal." He paused. "Well, now that we're done with that chick flick moment, how about we actually find our dorms?"

"Alright," Thor cleared with throat. "What room are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"I'm thirty."

They began to walk. "We're rather close," Loki said.

"There," Thor pointed to a locked door. "Twenty-two."

While Loki began to open the door, Thor found #30 only two doors down. The door was unlocked and he stepped into the modestly sized dorm. On the bed next to the left wall was a heavy military duffle bag, not yet opened, but printed with the insignia of the United States Army. Next to the bag, he saw a note written on a small piece of paper. He picked it up and read it in his head: _Hello, Thor, my name is Steve Rogers (your roommate). I already left to go to orientation, but I hope you don't mind me taking this bed. We'll get to know each other better later. Nice to meet you!_

Wow, Thor chuckled, nice kid. He dumped his duffle bag and schedule on the empty bed and left the room. Making his way back to Loki's room, he saw his brother examining something lying on the wood table in the corner.

Loki heard his brother approach. "Is this a bow and arrow?" he asked, picking up the strange instruments on the desk. Thor shrugged. "What does this kid think he is going to shoot out here?"

"Let's go! We have less than ten minutes now."

"_Fine_." He dropped the weapons back on the table and left the room. "Don't be such a priss."

"Don't force us to switch flights."

"I do what I want, Thor."

Thor chuckled, but that was exactly what he was scared of.

X

Bruce Banner reread the last page in his Conceptual Physics textbook. Even though he'd already read the textbook during the summer, he'd spent the last three hours sitting alone in his dorm rememorizing the content. It was easy stuff, after all; the post-graduate physics course would probably be the least difficult in his schedule. He would need all the time he could get to study for Advanced Radiology Theory and Linear Algebra.

Bruce had arrived at the Marvel Academy at 11 that morning, expecting the school to be crowded with students and faculty. Instead, he had found himself practically alone, confined within the stone walls and with no satellite reception.

He had found his dorm room, #50, at the very end of the male house hallway. He'd left the door open for any straggler who might wander that far, but even by 3 o'clock, no one had shown up. His roommate—some hotshot he'd heard a few words about—was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he wouldn't even show up at all. That might be for the best, Bruce thought; he wasn't particularly adept at close human interaction.

He closed the textbook and placed it thoughtfully on his lap. Carefully, he picked up the shiny schedule lying next to him on the bed. The courses aren't particularly difficult, he thought, but hopefully the professors would teach instead of forcing him to learn the material on his own. He was sure he could understand Advanced Radiology on his own given enough material to study, but the valuable time he could spend in performing laboratory experiments…

His thoughts trailed off into an intricate analysis of the difficulty of his classes as compared to the necessity of a professor. Stuck in his own head, he didn't recognize the silence break outside his dorm as a pair of loafers clattered down the hall. Once Bruce realized that someone was coming, his roommate was already towering over him with a sarcastic grin on his face.

"Are you _already_ studying? Dude," he dumped his huge duffle bag on the opposite bed, "school hasn't even started yet."

"Oh, I…" Bruce realized the textbook was still on his lap. "I wasn't studying, I was just… reading." He couldn't think of a legitimate excuse.

The roommate chuckled as he put his suitcase on the floor. "Whatever. I'm Tony," he extended his hand.

"Bruce." They shook.

"So whataya doing up here, Bruce?" Tony asked, taking off his sunglasses and leaning back on his bed.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone else is downstairs."

"Oh, I guess I was just waiting."

"For me?"

"I guess."

Tony looked across the room to the pile of textbooks Bruce had set up on the small wood table in the corner. Suddenly, he eyes lit up. "Man," he walked over to the desk, "are you in Advanced Electrical Engineering?"

"Yeah."

"Me too!" he exclaimed. "I heard like four people were taking it in the whole school!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, _including_ the guy who had two articles published in _Science _last year—Wait," he realized, his dark eyes filling with excitement, "was that you?"

"Uh, yeah," Bruce failed at trying to sound nonchalant.

"Oh my god." Tony moved closer him. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted to talk to you."

"It's really not a big deal…"

"Not a big deal? You're the journal's youngest published writer ever!" Then, he paused. "_Science _hasn't excepted anything I've written."

"It's really not that important…" he tried to level it down.

Tony smiled. "I like you," he said, pointing a finger at Bruce's chest. "You're a freakin' genius and you don't even wanna talk it." He smiled again. "I could never do that," he laughed.

A deep voice echoed from down the hall: "Let's go! We have less than ten minutes now."

Tony turned to Bruce. "Well champ, I say we make our way down now."

"Yeah, probably." He laid the textbook and the schedule on the bed and followed his roommate out the door.

Walking to the staircase from the end of the hallway, Tony put his arm around him. "You know, Bruce, I have a feeling it's gonna be a great year. The school seems legit, I saw some hot girls on the way up here, and our dorm," he paused and smiled, "is right by the fire escape."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because _we _are going to party." He turned to Bruce. "Nerds like to party, right?"

"Yeah, definitely." He didn't know whether Tony would take his remark sarcastically.

He didn't. "Good. Then we are set."

Bruce smiled. No one else his age had ever even heard of _Science_. Maybe at this school, he wouldn't just be the nerd that had no friends. Tony was right, he realized: It was gonna be a great year.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve Rogers had been sitting in the auditorium for the past half hour, staring at the empty stage, and observing his surroundings. The theatre was small and dark and the walls were lined with decrepit mahogany. The brass seats were rough and unyielding and there was hardly enough room for his abnormally large body between the rows of chairs. The black carpeting on the floor made the room feel even tighter than it was and the lack of natural lighting did not provide relief.

The lack of people in the auditorium did not discourage the dreary atmosphere. By the time Steve had arrived in the theatre, there was only one other person awaiting the presentation: a dirty blond young man sitting in the first row. Steve had considered approaching the student, but the indignation with which the man crossed his arms persuaded him otherwise. Instead, he had kept to evaluating the new students arriving in the auditorium. First, there was a feeble-looking female with pale hair and wide-rimmed glasses. Then, a pale boy with black hair and almond eyes. Neither made the attempt to contact him or the blond; he assumed, they just preferred their silence. Thus Steve remained staring at the empty stage.

Where was everyone, he wondered? He had seen groups of kids crowding in the hallway leading to the dorms, but so few of them had yet to show up in the dark theatre.

Just as he was contemplating the vacancy, he heard the muffled whispers of a group of girls entering the room. He stiffened his muscles as he heard the ladies strolling down the center aisle, giggling at whatever hilarious thing one of them had said. They passed Steve by on the way to the auditorium's second row. He relaxed his momentarily tense muscles; so much for company, he thought.

"Hi, is this seat taken?" Steve whipped his head toward the center aisle again, only to see a tall brunette standing above the unoccupied chair.

"Uh, no, it's empty," he stuttered.

A flirty smile appeared on the girl's cherry-red lips as she sat down. "Thanks. I'm Peggy," she smirked, holding out her hand.

"Steve," he nodded, trying not to grip her hand too tightly. "Steve Rogers." Gosh, he thought, why did he have to say his last name? He'd just met this girl and she probably already thought he was a bumbling idiot.

But Peggy didn't read into his introduction. "Nice to meet you," she grinned. "What grade are you in?"

"Senior. Wait, no, I'm a senior. So, that's twelfth, right?" he stumbled. Crap.

But she just laughed. "Me too. Do you know your schedule?"

"Yeah, I have Expository Seminar with—uh, I mean," he cleared his throat and slowed down, "I have Expos, then, um, Government, I think—"

"With Coulson?"

"Yeah!" He tried to keep himself from sounding too enthusiastic or self-assured. "I mean, I think so."

"Me too!"

"Oh, that's fantastic! I heard Coulson really knows what he's talking about."

"That's great."

Dammit, Steve thought, awkward silences were never his strong suit. He tried to extend the conversation. "So, uh, where are you from?"

"Brighton."

"Oh, well, that explains the accent then." He had just noticed Peggy's prevalent British tone. But she raised her eyebrows. "Oh, no, I'm not—I'm not saying its bad. I mean, I like it. It's really nice. It sounds really sophisticated."

She smirked cynically. "You really don't know how to talk to girls, Steve, do you?"

"Uh…" he chuckled, "no."

"Well, I guess we'll have to change that won't we?"

"Yeah, I guess if _you_ want to."

"It would be my honor." Her grin displayed two rows of perfectly white teeth.

Steve smiled in return. At least someone at this school didn't prefer the silence.

X

"Wait, what did you say your name was?"

"Pepper."

"Pepper. Like the seasoning?"

"Yeah."

The boy nodded, but his eyes drifted to a group of girls talking loudly on the other side of the lobby. Pepper Potts had already noticed the infatuated gaze several minutes ago and she rolled her eyes. "You know, if you wanna go, just leave."

The boy looked back at her. "But I don't want to leave you two ladies by yourselves," he said, casting a small gesticulation toward Jane, who standing quietly against the wall.

"Just go," Pepper shook her head.

The young man shriveled his eyebrows. "Fine." And he strolled away to talk to the girls he'd been staring at.

"You're so popular," Jane's soft voice remarked from the back wall. Pepper turned to face her roommate and only genuine person she'd met at Marvel thus far. "That's like, the third guy who's come to talk to you in the past half hour," she continued.

"But all those guys are losers. Look," she pointed to the boy who had just abandoned them; on the other side of the lobby, he was talking with a pretty blonde. "They think that just 'cause we're a bunch of smart girls, we'll be too eager for a boyfriend to realize how pathetic they are. Just wait for it…" Pepper and Jane watched as the blonde crossed her arms and said something to the boy. He chuckled nervously until the girl turned her back and persisted in talking with her friends. Then he slowly plodded away into the center of the crowd. "That's what I thought."

"Wow," Jane verbalized quietly after witnessing the rejection.

"And none of them are even cute."

Pepper's petite roommate thought for a moment. "That's disappointing."

"What? That they're ugly?"

"No, I mean, this is supposed to be _the _most prestigious school in the world. And the guys are _still _acting like idiots."

"I'm sure there's a couple decent guys here."

"I hope so." She paused. "I mean, its not like I'm looking or anything, but its _boarding school_. I don't want to be stuck on this island with a bunch losers who think they're cool for the next year."

Pepper hadn't taken Jane for someone who would even notice the type of people she went to school with. The girl was introverted, she could tell, and she lagged behind in the basics of conversation. But she was sweet and innocent and very, very smart—Pepper wondered how she could even compare upon seeing the stacks of science textbooks on the dorm desk—and she seemed to appreciate people who could speak up. She had assumed Jane lived in her own little world, oblivious to the strangeness of the outside and ignorant of the people by whom she was surrounded. But, much to Pepper's surprise, she was rather perceptive; the fact that she could hide it behind a façade of silence made it even more interesting.

"I know what you mean. I just hope some other lame-ass doesn't come over here trying to make a move—"

"Hello, girls!" a voice resounded behind them.

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Speak of the devil," she mouthed to Jane, who only smirked. "Hi," she said sarcastically upon turning around, expecting to see another poorly dressed European trying to look like a pimp. But instead, her eyes met those of a tall, attractive young man in a button-down shirt.

It took a second for Pepper to regain her senses, but the boy didn't miss a beat. "Considering we'll be classmates for the next year, we'd like to introduce ourselves." She hadn't noticed the brunet standing off to the side. "I'm Tony," he grinned, "and this is my friend Bruce," he said, pulling his friend up by the shoulder.

"I'm Pepper," she said, synthesizing the situation in her head, "and this is Jane."

"Jane," Tony said, "that's a really pretty name." Jane grinned. "And Pepper. That's cute." he smirked. "So what grades are you ladies in?"

"I'm a sophomore," Jane chimed.

"And I'm a junior," said Pepper, just realizing that she had been staring at Tony the entire exchange. Too bad he had been staring back too.

She diverted her eyes toward Bruce. "We're both juniors," said Tony. "So, uh," he struggled for a second, "are you girls taking a lot of science classes?"

"I am," Jane piped.

"Really?" An enigmatic smile appeared on Tony's lips. "You don't happen to be taking Advanced Electrical Engineering?"

"Um, yeah, I am, actually."

"Really? So am I, and so is _Bruce_," he emphasized. "You know, this kid," he poked Bruce in the chest, "this kid, is really smart. He had some articles published in _Science _last year."

"Really? That's impressive," Jane said.

"Uh, thanks," Bruce said modestly.

Pepper heard her roommate giggle quietly. Just as she diverted her eyes from Bruce, she met Tony's keen gaze again. "What about you, Pepper?" he asked, "Are you taking a lot of science classes?"

"No, I'm not," she smirked a little, caustically.

"What are you taking then?"

"Business, math, humanities."

"Wow, sounds like you wanna be a _businesswoman_," Pepper couldn't figure out whether she found his sarcasm offensive or engaging. "My dad could probably get you a job at our company."

She chuckled. "As what?"

"I don't know," he shrugged coyly. "My secretary."

"I think I'm overqualified," she said softly.

"Your loss," he smirked. "There're plenty of other applicants."

She smiled in return and their eyes met once again, each tempting the other to look away. Bruce, standing at Tony's side, observing the conversation, suddenly noticed the dozens of people pouring into the auditorium. "Um, I…" He didn't know whether to interrupt the couple's twisted staring contest. "I think orientation's about to start…"

Finally, Tony turned his glare toward the open brass doors to his left. "Well, it was nice meeting you ladies." He grinned. "Jane, we'll see you in Engineering. Pepper," he paused, "I'll see you."

He started to head for the doors; Bruce, after a quick "Bye," followed him. The boys walked into the auditorium and submerged into the crowd.

Pepper watched as the guys disappeared. She felt Jane move up next to her. "I think someone likes you…"

She gave her roommate a dirty look. "Who Tony? Come on, I'm positive he flirts with _every_ girl."

"I didn't see him making a move on anyone else."

She laughed a little. "You know what I think? I think Tony was trying to set you and Bruce up."

"Bruce was cute," Jane said softly. "I think we should probably go too, you know, to make sure there's still seats left."

"Yeah, you're right. Let's go." The girls walked toward the entrance, eventually merging into the huge group they had seen engulf the boys. Tony, Pepper thought, there was something about him. She wasn't sure whether she liked it or not.

X

Even as students began piling into the theatre, most went out of their way to avoid the seemingly affronted blond boy in the front row. But it wasn't as if he valued their company. Clint Barton much rather preferred, in fact, that his colleagues chose not to approach him. It wasn't that he was a misanthrope or a cynic; he was just too accustomed to isolation to change his habits on his first day of high school.

He watched the vacant podium at the front of the stage as more people gathered in the auditorium. Although the room was relatively small, it still contained more than enough seats for the hundred students that had been admitted to Marvel. Enough seats, Clint figured, to give him the luxury of the entire front row on his side of center aisle.

A few stragglers filed in and he heard the heavy brass doors close at the back of room. The ceiling's hanging lights dimmed, casting a long shadow from the podium across the stage. Finally, Clint thought. The obnoxious chatter in the room turned into a quiet murmuring and then into a cold silence when a dark figure appeared from the left wing. The man, physically imposing in a black suit and tie, commanded the room's attention when he stepped up to the podium. Upon seeing the leather eye patch over the man's right eye, Clint chuckled to himself. He doubted it had any legitimate use except to appear more threatening.

"Good afternoon, students. I would like to start this orientation by personally welcoming all of you to the Marvel Academy for Gifted Youth," the man said. An uneasy applause erupted from the back of the room. When it died down, the man continued, "I am Headmaster Fury, director of Marvel Academy, and it is my _honor _to be in a room with as many bright and talented young people as yourselves." Another apprehensive applause. "Most of you are probably wondering, what makes _this _school so special? Even in its first year, why is _this school _considered one of the most prestigious in the world?" Clint, actually, hadn't thought too much about it. "There was an idea. An idea among the leaders of our societies for a greater form of education. The idea was to gather the brightest young minds of the world in one place. To educate tomorrow's leaders as one. To inscribe the values of teamwork and diplomacy in the people who will, one day, control the world. But to complete this mission, we had to _find_ the best people. To accomplish this, we couldn't just judge by IQ scores or material achievements. We looked for those with the most potential. For those with the most heart. For those who have the capacity to achieve magnificent things." Fury paused and looked around the room. "We scoured the world, looking at every country on every continent until we _found _these people. That's how we discovered the group of unique and incredible individuals we have sitting in this room today." He paused and smiled, as pretense for another outburst of praise.

All the students in the room felt compelled to clap, except for Clint. The potential and heart Fury spoke of seemed like a suspicious concept to him. He didn't understand how the man could evaluate someone based on what they could be in theory. Sure, everyone had the potential to be anything they wanted, but it was the choice of the individual to act up that theoretic promise.

After the ovation had finally died down, the Headmaster continued, "The diversity that we find among the individuals sitting in front of me is the thing that makes this Academy so great. We scoured the globe looking for _you_. One of you, we found training as an Olympic wrestler in Norway. We found another one of you researching an advanced form gamma radiation in Peru. One of you we found lounging on his daddy's yacht, creating improvements in the design of the electric car. Hell, we found one of you in a traveling circus!"

_Fuck_ was the only word to materialize Clint's mind. As the room erupted into laughter, his icy eyes burned through the Headmaster's sadistic smile. This was exactly why he had questioned attending Marvel in the first place. He didn't want the constant reminder that he was a _freak _compared to these geniuses, that he was just some kid the Academy's executives had picked off the trapeze. He'd made himself a promise that no one would know his origins, but it took Headmaster-_motherfucking _-Fury all of five minutes to screw that up.

When the final chuckles died down, he persisted, "But it doesn't matter where you come as long as you all end up here. As individuals, we are all separate, but together, we are the world's greatest force. Despite our differences, we will all stand together as one. " 'Stand together as one', my ass, Clint thought. They might be confined together on a small island in the middle of the Irish Sea, but he knew they would never stand together. Fury was wrong: their differences were what would keep them apart. Personal experience had taught Clint that much.

He zoned out while the Headmaster preached more of his idealist philosophy. He didn't recognize what was happening until a strange man in a black suit handed him an iPad and walked away. He turned around to see the rest of the auditorium mumbling and examining the black devices they had just been handed.

"They're state of the art, limited edition, and created specifically by Apple for Marvel Academy," the Headmaster explained. "Please type in your names and follow the instructions on the screen."

Clint typed his name onto the screen and waited as the iPad registered his information. A photo of him popped up on the page, along with a short description of his age, grade, height, and hometown. Below the photograph, the number 97 appeared in red block letters.

"Once you have registered, please divert your attention back to me." Almost instantly, Fury regained the spotlight. "These are yours to keep, fees have been compensated by the school. But if you break it, you buy it." He paused for a moment and looked around the room. "One of the most interesting parts of the Marvel experience that you will find is the ranking system. The ranking system is similar to the class rank of normal high school, but our list does not only include academics. Many factors are important in calculating a student's ranking and we only suggest that you keep up your academic and physical performance if you want a high ranking." What the hell did he mean by physical? "We have created a preliminary ranking based off current knowledge of our students. The number beneath your photo represents your ranking out of one hundred. Number one is considered the 'best' and number one-hundred is considered the… 'not so good'. If you press on the number beneath your photo, you will see the entire school's listing."

Clint clicked on the red "97". A list of names in numerical order showed up. Number one, he saw, Tony Stark. Number two, Thor Odinson. Number three, Natasha Romanoff. The list continued until he saw his own name at number ninety-seven. In the entire school, there were only three people worse than him. _Fucking _fantastic.

"These lists will be updated weekly and will reflect any changes made by particular students in academic and physical fields."

Fury continued to talk about the ranking, but Clint couldn't concentrate on the man's speech. The list itself was enough rationale for him to leave the school. Even before introducing himself, people could already assume he was a loser. Added with the 'traveling circus' comment, he didn't know why he had flown all the way to Europe to deal with the same thing he could have found back home. But then, as usual, he remembered: there wasn't much of a home to return to. It was either this, or shooting an apple off a girl's head every Saturday night.

The shrill clamor of applause invaded his mind; Clint suddenly realized that the students behind him were standing up and talking again. Dismissal, he assumed and made his way into the center aisle, iPad in hand. He plodded through the theatre and followed the other students moving through the dorm hallway. Still in a daze when he reached the male sector staircase, he made his to his dorm, oblivious to the boys yelling around him.

When he entered his room, he saw a skinny young man with short, curly black hair standing above small suitcase on his bed. The boy looked up at Clint. "Hey. Clint, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Loki."

"Nice to meet you."

Loki went back to unpacking. Clint sat on his bed and looked around the room. "Oh," his roommate remembered, "are those," he motioned toward the weapons on the table, "yours?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Do you do archery for fun?"

"Yeah," he lied.

"That's exciting."

A pathetic silence engrossed the two boys, a silence that would carry on for the remainder of the evening. Clint looked at the bow and quiver lying patiently on the table. If he weren't at the school, he thought, he'd be lying in a crowded bunk, wishing he were anywhere else in the world. He sighed. He had gotten his wish; too bad he felt utterly, painstakingly the same.

X

**Thanks so much to everyone who read the first chapter and liked the story! Thanks to followsrabbit and hollyhock66 for reviewing! Any and all input would be loved!**


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha twirled the mechanical pencil around her thumb, only half-listening to the incredibly dull words coming from Professor Hill's mouth. It was only the first day of school and she already wanted to shoot herself. She'd spent the first two periods of the day explaining that it was _Ro_manoff, not Ro_man_off and doodling in the margins of the syllabi her teachers passed out. Her professors had spent the entire hour of class time talking about their academic plans for the year and lecturing the students on the prestige of being accepted in the Marvel program. Her classmates enjoyed the praise; Natasha remained uninterested.

Just when Natasha thought the day couldn't get any more boring, she reached her third period calculus class. Professor Hill, a woman in her 30s with as much sensitivity as a rock, had almost instantly begun to lecture the class about differentials and natural logs. Without even taking time to take attendance or learn names, the students were automatically forced to listen to the unyielding rant. Most kids viciously tried to take notes; Natasha, on the other hand, had discovered the room's clock and stared down the minute hand while it slowly moved around the circle.

Thirty-three minutes into the lecture, Natasha wanted to bang her head on her desk until she passed out. The woman just didn't know how to stop talking. She lay her head down on the table and closed her eyes. Maybe she could nap through the last twenty-seven minutes of class.

Just as she beginning to doze off, Natasha felt a small ball of paper hit her arm. She opened her eyes and picked the crumpled sheet of graph paper off the corner of her desk. Opening up the note, she read the black, cursive lettering in her head: _Hello, you're the only other person in this room who doesn't give a shit about what she's talking about. Nice to meet you, I'm Loki._

Natasha raised her eyebrows and scanned the students sitting to her left. All were too busy copying the formulas Hill had just scribbled on the board to notice her glance. She diverted her eyes to the row one ahead of her; all the nerds were bent over their notebooks, scrawling down as much as they could. Finally, Natasha glinted to the right. One desk over, she saw him: a dark-haired boy in a fitted t-shirt, slouching slightly in his seat, with nothing on his desk but a pen and a rubber band. She smirked; at least she wasn't alone in her agony.

Methodically, she wrote back: _Glad to know I'm not alone. I'm Natasha. _She thought for a second, then added: _I'm a sophomore, how bout you?_

Natasha crumpled the paper up and threw it at her neighbor when Hill turned her back. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he smoothed out the sheet and carefully read the message. He jotted something in response and threw it back.

_It's good to meet you, Natasha. I'm also a sophomore. How are you liking Marvel so far? Personally, I think everyone's a bit overenthusiastic._

She wrote a reply, periodically looking up to make sure the professor was still entranced in her speech: _It's alright, I guess, but I agree with you on the overenthusiasm. It's the first day and they're going insane. _Natasha looked up to glance at the student sitting a desk ahead of Loki. Two full pages of his composition book were covered in unintelligible markings and his polo was dampening around the collar. _Just check out the kid in front of you_, she penned.

She saw Loki chuckle upon reading the note. He scribbled a few more words and passed the paper back: _You'd think the kid was running a marathon or something. Looks like he's going to drop dead any minute now._

An idea came to her: _I dare you to shoot him with that rubber band_.

Loki looked amused and set the wrinkled paper aside. He picked up the elastic from the front of his desk and twisted it around his hand like a small gun. Carefully lifting his pointer finger to the level of Fanatic Boy's neck, he released his thumb and sent the band speeding toward the student. Upon impact, the boy practically jumped from his seat, sending the notebook flying from his desk into the other row. He whipped his head to face Loki, who was calmly looking back at the boy, the rubber band already laying at the front of his desk. "Sorry," he mouthed to Fanatic Boy who glared at him for a couple seconds before whipping back around and picking the composition book off the floor.

Natasha bit her lower lip to keep herself from laughing. Once the boy was facing the front of the room again, she looked at Loki, who was already looking at her, eyebrows raised and with a wide grin on his pale lips. She smirked back; Hill hadn't even noticed the momentary disturbance. Her neighbor wrote out another message and threw it back: _That was funny and Professor Priss didn't even notice. We should talk sometime._

In response, she scribbled: _We should sit together at lunch._

Just as soon as Natasha threw over the note, Professor Hill abruptly ceased talking and looked at the class list on her desk. She began to yell out names, all of which were followed by some thoughtful recognition of attendance. After everyone had finally declared his or her presence, the teacher began to speak in the same, deadpan tone she had for the past fifty-nine minutes: "I hope that you now have a basic understanding of the course curriculum and know the expectations I have set for you in this class. When the bell rings, please proceed to the cafeteria. You will have fifty minutes to arrive, eat, and reach your forth-period classes. I hope all of you have a great rest of the day," she concluded without a sliver of happiness in her voice.

The shrill sound of the passing bell filled the room just after Hill pronounced her last expectation. Natasha stuffed her pencil into side pocket of her black backpack and stood up, only to see Loki standing confidently at the corner of her desk. He was much taller standing up, she realized, and much more attractive, she supposed. "Nice to finally talk to you, Natasha," he smirked. The British accent she hadn't expected, but it gave him an air of class she hadn't encountered yet at Marvel.

"You too, Loki," she smiled in return.

"So, lunch?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's go." She grabbed her backpack and, side-by-side, they followed the other students out the classroom door. As they were walking, Natasha couldn't help but think that third period had just gotten a lot more exciting.

X

Sif Alexander had already settled down at the edge of the cafeteria when she saw her roommate stroll out of the lunch line with a handsome, dark stranger. As the couple veered closer to her seat, she raised her arm and waved a hasty "Over here!" until Natasha recognized her presence. As the two approached the table, Sif couldn't help but check out the arm candy her roommate had brought along. Tall, toned, and wearing a tight black shirt—Damn! What did little Natasha have to say to score _that_, she wondered?

"Hey Sif, this is my friend, Loki. Loki, this is my roommate Sif. Do you mind if he sits with us?"

"Oh, not at all! The more the merrier, right?"

The boy smiled and sat down across from Sif at the edge of the long dining room table. Her roommate chose to sit next her, across from an unoccupied seat on the other side. "So, did you kids have a class together or…" she let her voice drift off as incentive for the couple to explain themselves.

"Yeah, calculus with Hill," Loki replied casually. Sif liked his accent.

"Really? How was it?"

"Rather boring, actually. The teacher just talked for the entire hour," he answered.

"So how did you guys get to talking then?"

"We passed notes."

"Note passing?" She smirked. "That's cute."

Loki smiled a little, but his attention quickly shifted to something behind Sif. "Hey," he asked, "Do you girls mind if my roommate sits with us as well?"

"Of course not! Bring as many friends as you want!" If they're all as good-looking as you, she wanted to add.

"He's just a little… awkward, that's all," Loki said softly. He moved out of his seat and stood up just outside the table to get a better view of his roommate. Then, seeing he was too far away to be noticed, he started walking across the room in his friend's direction.

Sif used the distraction to ask Natasha, who'd been quiet during the exchange so far, "What the _hell _did you write in those notes?"

"Why?" she asked. "Is there something wrong with him?"

"What? No—he's gorgeous!"

"Is he? Oh, I didn't notice," she said coolly, discreetly poking at her salad.

"Oh, come on! Boys like him don't play that game."

"What are you talking about?"

"If you play hard to get, he'll just find another girl."

"I'm not playing hard to get."

"Mhhm."

"I just met him! I don't know anything about him! He could be a psycho killer for all I know!"

"I'm sure they accept _psycho_ _killers_ here at Marvel."

Natasha paused, paused for a second longer than the normal reaction time, Sif realized. "Whatever," she finally responded. "I'm not playing hard to get. He's a _friend _and I just met him."

"Okay, fine," she said softly, troubled at the split second delay. For a moment, she thought she saw something fog up in Natasha's eyes, but she blinked and any hidden emotion was gone. "Did Loki say anything about his roommate?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, maybe you'll like _him _better," Sif smirked, trying to bring the suggestive sarcasm that had recently eluded the conversation.

Natasha chuckled. "Yeah, maybe I'll play _hard to get_ with this one," she mocked.

The girls were giggling when they realized Loki had returned to the table. "Ladies, this is my roommate, Clint. Clint, this is my friend, Natasha, and her roommate, Sif."

Sif looked up at boy Loki had brought along. Damn, she thought, he justas attractive as the first one, but in a subtler way. He was tall, not as tall as his roommate, but tall enough, with a muscular build and a sharp jawline. He didn't exude the same Playgirl model perfection as Loki, but his eyes were a caustic blue. It was sexy, she thought, in a twisted, terrifying way.

"Hi," Natasha said.

"Hey," Clint responded softly, carefully placing his black shoulder bag on the floor. He sat down in the seat opposite from her roommate and lowered his eyes to the practically empty tray in front of him.

"So, uh, where are you guys from?" Sif tried to expunge the silence.

"Norway," replied Loki.

"Really? Wow," she was surprised. "Your English is perfect."

"Yeah, I've been forced to travel."

"Any particular reason?" She hoped she wasn't prying.

"My older brother is on the Norwegian Olympic team and my father—"

"Wait, _you're _Thor Odinson's brother?"

He paused for a second. "Yes."

This was the brother of Thor Odinson. Thor Odinson, the wrestling prodigy, the Olympic bronze medalist in his weight group, the perfectionist who had given up a year of training in order to attend Marvel. She'd heard about his dedication, his ethic, his physical and mental strength, his talent. She'd wondered why anyone would give up a precious year of what he had, even if it was to attend the most prestigious school in the world. She'd heard that he brought along a brother but she never expected him to be a skinny, black-haired young man with hardly any resemblance to the blond athlete.

"What about you, Clint? Where are you from?" Natasha had assumed the role of interrogator during Sif's momentary relapse.

"America."

"Where in America?"

"Oh, um… Iowa."

"Iowa?" She chuckled. "What's in Iowa?"

"I don't know. Corn?" he shrugged.

"So, uh, how do you like Marvel so far?"

"It's alright," he said indifferently. "I don't like Fury too much, though."

"Why not?" Sif piped. "He seems like a cool guy."

The dirty blond shrugged again, but did not respond. He'd only known the man one day, she thought. What could have he done to him?

"How were your earlier classes?" Loki intervened this time. For the remainder of the lunch period, Sif and Natasha talked with the dark-haired boy, discussing courses, teachers, and expectations for the year. Clint refused to say a word; shyness and insecurity, she assumed, typical teenage issues.

But she didn't think too much of his refusal to communicate. Her quiet roommate had just introduced her to a hot guy with an equally attractive and much more famous older brother. And she was content with that.

X

Thor looked feverishly around the gymnasium for anyone who looked like a teacher. The large digital clock on the wall informed him that it was already 2:33, three minutes past the time class was supposed to begin. He didn't enjoy the prospect of losing any precious minutes he could spend training.

"Do you know anyone else who's in Special?" Steve's animated voice questioned behind him. Special Training was the name of the gym class Thor had signed up to take. Marvel's counselors had ensured him that the course was the Olympic-level training and that it only accepted the dedicated athletes in the school. So far, he hadn't met anyone except his burly roommate who'd also enrolled in the course.

"No, but I believe it is a fairly small class. I doubt there will be any more people than you and I."

"Yeah, you're right," the blond American accepted. "Do you think we'll actually be doing anything training-wise today?"

"Well, I'd assume so. After all, no one delayed us from changing into more suitable attire." Both Thor and Steve had redressed into shorts and t-shirts for the last period of the day.

"Good point," he sighed. "I hope the teacher shows up soon; I don't want to be standing around here not doing anything," he said, looking anxiously across the gym. Thor smirked. He didn't know whether it was luck or administrative planning, but he and his roommate were two of a kind. After orientation the day before, the boys hit it off straight away with a discussion of the European soccer situation. Soon later, they realized they were both seniors, both dedicated athletes, and both had some sense of personal insecurity plaguing them. Steve was smarter and Thor was stronger, but they understood each other's lives. They became fast friends.

Thor looked over at the clock again; it was 2:37 now and still no teacher had bothered to show up. Practically all the other students had emerged from the locker rooms by then; some were standing up against the wall, some were sitting off the edge of the indoor track. A group of girls had just sauntered out the locker room, giggling their way over to a group of boys standing by the entrance to the hallway. A pretty brunette at the end of the pack looked over in Thor's direction and smiled. "Hey Steve!" she waved.

"Oh, hey!" Steve said awkwardly. The girl was still grinning when she walked away.

"Who was _that_?" Thor questioned.

"Oh, that's Peggy, I met her yesterday."

"She's cute."

"Yeah…" He seemed deep in thought.

"You should ask her to hang out after class sometime."

"What?" He was jolted back. "Why?"

"Because… you like her?" His roommate's question did not make sense in his mind.

"But I just met her!"

"You will become closer once you hang out."

"But…" Steve bit his lower lip and sighed. "The thing is," he lowered his voice, "I'm not really great with asking girls out, or talking to them, or, you know, acting normal around them," he stammered.

"Oh, Steve," he chuckled, "you don't have to make it that difficult."

"Well, maybe its not difficult for you."

"You just cannot overthink it, that's all."

Just as Steve opened his mouth to speak, a small, plump man holding a clipboard appeared in the center of the gymnasium. "Special Training, over here!" he yelled with the austerity of an army sergeant. Thor and Steve exchanged glanced and started walking toward the old man. "Hurry up!" he yelled, increasing the boys' walk into a slow jog.

A small group of students crowded around the man. "Alexander!" he yelled. A longhaired girl from the side acknowledged her presence. "Barnes! Odinson! Richards! Rogers! Wade!" After all six people had been accounted for, the man demanded, "Alright, follow me!"

The group proceeded across the gymnasium to side door in the corner. Once they exited the door, they found themselves outside, surrounded by the salty August air. "Gents!—and Lady," the man said, recognizing the one girl in the group, "Welcome to Special Training at the Marvel Academy! My name is Mr. Phillips and I will be your trainer this program. This training group is the toughest in the school and I know all of you are very talented at what you do. Because of this, I will not be as much of a _teacher_ as I will be a _coordinator_. _All of you _know how you have to train to improve and I will _not _tolerate anything below one-hundred-fifty percent! All of you are capable of this and I _will not_ accept anything less." Phillips looked around the group for any trace of fear or apprehension in the faces of the students. Thor remained stoic, refusing to lose eye contact with the short man.

"I assume you might be wondering why I brought you outside," he paused and looked around the group again. "We are going to run the mile. See that line?" He pointed to white line painted on the cement twenty feet in front of him. "That is your starting and finish line. You will run around that field and follow the pathway that goes to past the administrative office and through the arch separating the dorms. The path is exactly one mile; I will stay here and take your preliminary time. You may get set."

The students, slightly fazed by the order, moved to line. "On your mark," Thor lowered his stance, "get set," he took a deep breath, "go!" the man yelled. With a quick jolt of energy, he rapidly found himself at the top of the pack. He veered around the field, practically sprinting at first, but slowed down slightly when he realized he was far ahead of everyone else. About two minutes had passed, he guessed, when he was close to the halfway mark. He lowered his speed again, still not expecting anyone to keep up with his pace. Starting the back half, he let his mind zone out for a minute. Even in the toughest class in the school, he thought, he didn't have much competition.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a figure in yellow and black flew past him. It was the girl, he realized, something Alexander. She was sprinting far ahead of him once he realized what had happened. He ran harder, keeping her in his vision, trying to catch up, but her lean body just moved farther and farther away. Once he reached the bend, he was almost at the finish line and the girl was standing triumphantly at Phillips's side.

"4:50, Odinson," the man remarked.

"What did you get?" Thor asked the girl through his heavy breaths.

"4:41."

"Nice job."

"Thanks," she grinned.

"5:10, Rogers," Phillips remarked in the background.

"Good try, Rogers," he patted his roommate on the back, "but we both lost to a girl."

"Doesn't matter if she's a girl," Steve remarked, hands placed on his knees, "I respect anyone who kicks your ass that bad."

The girl smirked, but turned away to watch the rest of the class finish their mile.

"That's cute, Steve, but she kicked your ass way worse than mine," Thor rebuked.

"Well, she's a runner."

"Are you really?" he asked the girl.

"Yeah, miler," she replied.

"What's your name?"

"Sif."

"I'm Thor."

"Yeah, I know."

"We should have a rematch, sometime."

"I think I'd still beat you," she said assuredly.

"That sounds like a challenge, doesn't it, Steve?"

"Um, yeah," replied the American.

"Alright then. This weekend. We'll see who wins," Thor smiled.

"You're on," Sif smirked in return.

The last of the runners had finally crossed the finish line. "Everybody, back inside and I'll introduce you to the weight room!" Phillips yelled. Sif was the first to enter the side door, leaving Thor and Steve to follow in behind.

"What was that?" his roommate whispered.

"That, my friend, is how you ask a girl to hang out."

"But… But you met her, like, five minutes ago!"

"Don't overthink it, Steve. It's not that difficult."

"But… but…" he tried to find an excuse. "Never mind."

Thor chuckled. Sure, he and his roommate were two of kind. But that didn't mean there weren't things he was much, much better at.

X

**Thanks so much to everyone who read the first two chapters and liked them! I'm glad everyone's having as much fun reading this as I am writing it! Thank you to NeverWakingUpFromThisDream, mellimon, ScienceWolf, X-Nerd, Aena Firestar, H. Lokidottir, followsrabbit, scintillatingshards, hollyhock66, and 8fangirl8 for reviewing! I appreciate all the support! **


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, after they realized I was with the convention, they decided not to arrest me. Words of advice: never walk into a Marriot wearing a National Academy of Sciences emblem on your speedo," Dr. Selvig concluded. Tony and the other three students erupted into laughter. After five days at the Marvel Academy, Advanced Electrical Engineering had easily become his favorite class. The course was challenging, but not overtly; Dr. Selvig was committed, but did not fail to entertain the students with stories from his days as a rogue young scientist. He especially loved that the class contained only four total students: him, Bruce, Jane, and an agreeable junior named Amadeus Cho.

"Okay, I'll give you guys a break: no homework over the weekend. I have some worksheets I have to copy so you kids can just talk amongst yourselves for the last couple minutes," the professor said. Carrying a thin manila folder, he quickly walked out the open door and sped down the hallway.

When Tony turned to look at his classmates, Bruce and Jane was already busy talking. Dammit, he thought, every second Selvig wasn't lecturing, the lovebirds were all over each other. But he knew it was partially his fault for setting them in the first place; his self-administered job as Bruce's matchmaker had worked a little too well for his liking.

Instead of his roommate, Tony turned his attention to the boy he hadn't spoken to too much since classes began. "So, Amadeus, what's up?"

"Nothing much, Tony, just the usual boarding school shit." He was stuffing a notebook into his ragged backpack. "What's up with you?"

"Oh, you know," he leaned back in his desk, "same old, same old."

"Nothing exciting going on in the life of Tony Stark?" he smirked.

Tony thought about it. The first week had been a blur of teachers and students vying for his attention. His father's money made him a popular target for admirers but the paparazzi-like students following him from class to class had gotten annoying after the third day. Of course, he enjoyed the recognition; he wasn't about to tell his followers to fuck off. He remained polite but through the week he'd chosen to stick with Bruce, his only classmate who didn't seem to care that he was first on the Marvel ranking list.

"Not really," Tony confessed. It was a strange concept for him. He didn't remember the last time he'd gone a day without a remarkable event. His life before boarding school had been filled with endless parties and social events, insatiable girls and photographers, infinite lists of places to be and people to meet. But now, everything felt so boring. Despite Marvel's promise to be the epicenter for the most extraordinary people in the world, Tony had never felt more average.

"Well, I'm sure you'll find someway to change that," Amadeus grinned. Tony smiled in return. This kid was genuine; his compliments weren't the feckless type that most people just threw around. It wasn't typical to find someone who actually cared enough to provide an honest remark; Tony respected the boy for it.

"Yeah, well, I hope that change comes soon," he sighed. "I don't know how long I can stand this monotony."

"It's been one week," the boy chuckled.

"'Boring' just isn't my style."

"And eccentricity is your strong suit."

It was strange, Tony thought, how Amadeus approached him. The boy knew who Tony Stark was, what he did, how he presented himself, but he didn't find his fame enticing. He just said the truth like it was, unprejudiced and direct, instead of trying to appeal to his friendship or his checkbook. He even sensed a hint of mockery beneath his words, either paranoia on his behalf or contempt on his classmate's.

"Where are you from anyway?" Tony asked all of a sudden. He'd never gotten around to discovering the boy's history; maybe with the knowledge, he could find the source of the contempt, or lack there of.

"Seoul," his eyes narrowed.

"Really? I assume it's a lot different from Europe."

"I actually haven't been there in a couple years."

"Why not?"

"I've been hiding out in America for a while."

"Hiding out?" Tony questioned, not knowing whether to take the statement as a joke or a fact. "From who?"

"Korean assassins."

"Are you serious?" The boy nodded slightly. He couldn't understand why he was so eager to believe him. "Why?"

"I'm too smart for my own good." The calmness with which the boy spoke alarmed him.

"Can't you go into government custody?"

"The assassins work for the government."

"Are you for real?" Amadeus raised his eyebrows as if to say, _You don't believe me? _"But, if there're people trying to kill you, then why are you here?"

He understood the question well enough to not take it as an insult. "Fury provides protection," he shrugged.

Tony paused for a moment, still entrenched in the incredibility of his classmate's story. "You're serious about all of this?" The boy nodded. Something in the boy's dark eyes made Tony believe him. "Then why are you telling me?"

Again, the boy shrugged. "You asked."

"But I could be one of those assassins for all you know."

Amadeus chuckled. "I know for a fact that you're not."

"But…" he began, his voice drifting off. "What about your family?"

He bit his lower lip. "They're fine. They're in the States."

Tony thought for a while. "I'd never be able to handle that." Even though he wasn't as close with his family as he should be, he wouldn't be able to stand knowing that he was the reason for their possible demise.

"Trust me, Tony. If you ever get in my situation, you'll find a way to handle it," the boy said, something glimmering now in his eyes. Tony couldn't tell whether it was grief, terror, or something darker, but he didn't want to question it. The casualness with which Amadeus described his life unnerved him. He still couldn't force himself to completely believe the entire tale, even if the look in his friend's eyes told him otherwise.

"How can you _trust_ me?"

"You and I are a lot alike, Tony."

"How could you know that?" Even if Amadeus knew who he was, he couldn't know enough to compare their lives.

"I told you: I'm too smart for my own good," the boy said with a smirk.

Cryptic answers had never struck a cord with him, but at that point, he was too confused and terrified to figure out a proper reaction. As he was mentally reading into the statement, Dr. Selvig sauntered back into the classroom with massive stack of papers. The professor squinted at the room's digital clock, then declared, "Oh! Looks like class is over—"

Just as he completed his sentence, the shrill ring of the dismal bell pierced the ears of the students. Amadeus turned to Tony, who had been sitting atop his desk since Selvig's original departure. "I'll see you later, Tony," the boy smiled, but the boy's eyes still shone with whatever harbored emotion he chose to repress.

"Later," he replied absentmindedly. He remained on the desk as the boy walked off into the hallway. Behind him, he heard Bruce and Jane's inflated whispers issue a parting and he watched as the girl proceeded in Amadeus's footsteps.

"You ready?" Bruce asked when he failed to hop down from the desk.

"Yeah." He was still lost in thought. "Did you have a nice talk with Jane?" he asked, mindlessly.

"Yeah, I did. Did you have a nice talk with Amadeus?"

He paused. "He either complimented or threatened me, I'm not sure."

He meant the statement without a sliver of sarcasm, but roommate chuckled anyway. "I think your groupies are huddling outside the room," Bruce said as they slowly began to walk toward the hallway.

"Fantastic," he remarked sarcastically. He didn't care for his followers now, not when Amadeus's chilling words were still on his mind.

"Your paparazzi doesn't want to see you so depressed."

Silently, Tony thanked him for not asking about the source of his melancholy. "You're right. Let's just smile and pretend we give a shit." He put on his show-stealing grin to mask any emotions that were present beneath the surface. An undistinguishable image of his usual, insouciant self, Tony walked into the crowded embrace of his followers.

X

"Just relax, Steve," Thor repeated as the boys walked into the cafeteria.

"But, but," Steve stuttered, "what if she tries to talk to me?"

"_Steve_."

"Relax, right," the American sighed.

"She's not even present at the dining table at this point," his roommate said, directing a glance at the large circular table near the center of the lunchroom. He was right; the table was empty, as was much of the room itself.

"That's good. I mean that's not good that she's not there, it's good that I still have time—"

"She's nowhere near your vicinity and you're already mumbling like an idiot," Thor remarked, voice discreetly plagued with irritation now.

"I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "I'll control myself." Displeasure was clearly evident in his friend's eyes, Steve just noticed, and he quickly racked his brain for a decent distraction. "So, uh, you still having that rematch with Sif tomorrow?"

"I suppose," he said calmly as they approached the lunch table.

"Is that a date?"

"No, just some friendly competition."

"I think she likes you." When Steve wasn't forced to deal with people directly, he had no difficulty observing them. The introverted atmosphere of Special Training had provided just that. Sif, he noticed, would always stand at one edge of the group when Phillips was lecturing, but slightly in front of everyone else to ensure she wasn't excluded. She was meticulous about choosing a weight machine that was not too close to Thor's to appear intrusive, but not far enough that he wouldn't notice her. Whenever she had the opportunity, she would gravitate prudently to Thor's side, never initiating the conversation, but always fishing for compliments with her glossy smile.

Thor shrugged. "She's cute."

By then, they had reached the lunch table and carefully placed their trays on the shiny, white wood. Steve pulled out a chair and plopped his military-style backpack on the marble floor. "She seems nice."

"Yes, thus she appears. But like many others," he paused, spotting something across the room, "she is motivated by rank."

Steve turned around to see the commotion that had just entered the cafeteria. Walking in from the doors leading from the lunch line was a large cluster of students dressed primarily in argyle and plaid, laughing haughtily like a pack of hyenas. Though he could not see the center of the group's attention, he could assume that—_without a doubt_—it was the J. Crew-clad Grandmaster himself, Tony Stark.

Thor rolled his eyes at the passing atrocity. "I'm sure she does not differ greatly from those buffoons once she is outside Special."

Steve didn't understand his urge to defend Sif. "She doesn't eat lunch with them." But the proposition posed a greater question. "Who is she friends with anyway?"

His roommate shrugged again. "No one we know, I'm sure."

Just as Thor finished his sentence, a group of students approached the round table. "Thor, Steve," a muscular boy named Lester saluted. After a quick flurry of greetings, much of the remainder of the table filled up with colleagues Steve hardly knew by name. His roommate leapt into conversation with Lester and a couple other Olympians he had acquainted. He allowed himself to zone out while the rest of the table talked.

"Hey Steve!" a familiar voice pervaded his daydream. "This seat taken?"

"Uh, no, Peggy, it's empty." He took a deep breath as the girl sat down next to him.

"You know, it's really too bad Coulson's such a stickler for lecturing," she smiled. "I never have a chance to talk to you in class."

"Yeah, it's really disappointing." Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

"You were right, though: it's an interesting course. He really knows what he's talking about."

"Yeah. Yeah, he seems like a really cool guy, too." He tried to grin, but he could feel his face contorting more than it probably should. Instead, he looked out behind his table to avoid any awkward eye contact with Peggy. It was there that he saw the long black ponytail peering out from behind a sports headband.

"Hey," Steve nudged his roommate in the side. Thor turned to him, still chuckling from whatever joke he'd just heard. "Look, it's Sif," the American pointed in her direction. "Do you know those people?"

"I do not recognize the red-haired girl." All of a sudden, his blissful smile fell flat from his face. "Oh…"

"Who is it?"

"She is acquainted with Loki," he said, a stern scowl spreading over his face.

"Your brother?"

Thor did not reply; instead, Steve recognized the anger flaring up in his eyes. "I will approach her about this tomorrow," he concluded.

Steve didn't understand how Loki's mere presence could provoke Thor into such a state of disillusionment. A brotherly rivalry was one thing, but the repressed rage he displayed was another. All he could do was wonder about the tensions existed between the siblings after Thor returned callously to his classmates' casual conversation. His roommate hadn't dwelled on the problem too long, so Steve decided to forget the issue for the moment. He turned back around to Peggy and resumed his futile attempts at dialogue.

X

"Partner up!" Coach Dernier yelled to the students crowded near the gymnastics mats on the north side of the gymnasium. "And stretch out!"

Clint picked himself off the wall and headed toward the unoccupied corner of the large mat. Zigzagging through a maze of talkative students, he finally made it to the same small section where he had been warming up for the past four days. He plopped down on the floor and yawned, not because of a lack of sleep, but because of an abundance. With his absent social life, he'd managed to finish his homework by six o'clock every night. By nine o'clock he was in bed and by ten o'clock he was asleep. It had been a dreary first week.

"Hey," a voice greeted him from behind.

Clint looked up to see the blasé redhead standing next to him. "Hey Natasha."

"What's up?" She sat down next to him.

"Nothing much. What's up with you?"

She shrugged. "Nothing."

This conversation was identical to the ones they'd had for the past several days. An apathetic hello, a brief discussion of the substance of their day. After that, they would stop talking, sometimes pretending to stretch out, and wait for Dernier to yell "Warm up!" Clint wondered why the girl bothered to partner up with him since they could never get around to a legitimate conversation. There were only two possibilities he could imagine: one, she thought befriending him would give her a free pass into Loki's bed, or two, she was just as alone in the prep-studded Combat class as he was.

"Do you think their parents paid their way in here?"

"What?" Clint asked, taken aback by the fact that Natasha actually decided to speak.

"All those kids," she said toward the group of Lacoste-donning students stretching out in the center of the mat. "They're not smart and they're not Olympians and somehow they got admitted to the _best_ school in the world." He could feel her biting sarcasm. "The only thing they have is money."

Clint shrugged. "Money can get you anywhere."

"Exactly," she paused. "But they just throw it around like confetti."

There was something sinister in Natasha's tone, some stifled hate that she kept bottled up beneath the surface. There was something about money and power that she resented, he could tell, but not in the way that beggar would hate a corporate lawyer. Her hate was darker and more direct, as if she had acted upon it in her past.

"But the worst part?" she continued, "They _think _they're the best." A loud, contemptuous laugh erupted from the group of students sitting near the center of the gym. Natasha rolled her eyes. "There you go, there's the quintessential example: _Tony Stark_."

Clint didn't know whether to laugh or not; the way she exaggerated his name seemed like a joke, but her expression still rejected any form of amusement. He decided not to take his chances. "Stark's actually smart, though."

"But he's not the smartest. He's definitely not the fastest or the strongest."

"People like him."

"People like his money."

"Same thing."

"Warm up!" Dernier yelled across the gymnasium. Clint and Natasha stood up and faced each other. For some people, including many of the preps who drifted toward Tony, Combat Training for a legitimate class in which they had no prior experience. Everything they knew came from the Coach's direction and they were willing to follow his instructions on how to throw a proper punch. But for others, including Natasha, Combat Training was just target practice. And for the last several days, Clint just happened to become her target.

"He's first in the rankings," he mentioned.

"So?" she asked, eyes tracing over his fragile stance.

"So he has to be good at something."

"Those rankings don't mean anything." She aimed a punch at his right shoulder. Clint deflected it with his arm, only to be kicked in his exposed left hip. They returned to their stances.

"Easy to say when you're at the top."

"Should be just as easy to say when you're at the bottom." He threw a punch at her left shoulder, but she caught his fist and twisted his arm. He clenched his jaw to avoid asserting his pain. "It's just a bunch of names."

Finally, she let go of his hand. Shaking it out, Clint said, "But they're in order."

"By what? _Potential_? That's a joke if I've ever seen one." Natasha squatted down and extended her leg in an elongated kick in the back of his left knee. He winced; only his steady right left prevented him from falling fall on his face. "Potential means that you could do it, not that you will."

Clint knew the girl was only reiterating his own thoughts when she talked about potential. In retrospect, the rankings did seem ridiculous, but he could help but think that they only reinforced the feeling of self-loathing he'd held for so long. He regained his balance and faced his opponent again. "I'm glad you have the capacity to not care."

Natasha narrowed her eyes into an expression that he could not clearly interpret. "Loosen up, Clint," she said, lunging toward him. He held out his arm to defend her punch, but she didn't attack him. For a split second, he couldn't tell where she was until he felt her strong arms lock up on his shoulders. He pivoted around, but she was too fast. In few milliseconds he couldn't even comprehend, he was flipped up from the ground and thrown down to the mat in a loud _bam!_ Clint was on his back, breathing heavily, perplexed at how the petite Russian could have tossed all his body weight; Natasha was standing over him with satirical smirk. "You're too tight."

Clint could only close his eyes and groan. The soreness in his arms and legs shouldn't have been setting in until the next day, but he could already feel the piercing stretch all over his body. "Barton! Get your lazy ass off the floor!" he heard Dernier yell across the room. He sighed, but opened his eyes.

Natasha was still standing above him, but now with an outstretch hand. Clint grabbed it and pulled himself up to the floor. "Too much for you?" she asked.

"Yeah…" He was starting to feel dizzy from the flip.

"I'll take it down a notch."

He rested his hand on his knees. "I don't think that's possible for you."

"Combat! Center of the mat! Come on, hurry up!" the Coach bellowed across the gymnasium.

Clint straightened out and followed Natasha, who'd already begun walking to the designated spot. "You shouldn't think too much about those rankings," she said when he caught up to her. "They don't mean anything."

"Alright." He didn't have enough strength to argue with her right then. Even if he hadn't just gotten his ass kicked, he knew he wouldn't be able to convince her otherwise. Natasha was too stubborn, too confident, too secure in herself to let anyone else judge her. But Clint, he knew, he'd been too vulnerable for too long; he could never make her understand that every defeat, every letdown, every 97 out of a 100 on a chary ranking list appeared to him as a confirmation of his ultimate, inevitable failure.

X

**Thank you so much to everyone who's read the story so far! Thanks to H. Lokidottir, Guest (I'm assuming that's not your actual name…), X-Nerd, ScienceWolf, scintillatingshards, followsrabbit, and hollyhock66! I'd love any thoughts or suggestions anyone has!**


	5. Chapter 5

Sif didn't need to look behind her to know that her running partner had no chance of catching up to her in the last 50 meters. She maintained her pace until she reached the end of the curve, where she ran through the imaginary finish line the couple had established. A couple seconds after she'd arrived, Sif heard the hollow breathing of her competitor prod up behind her.

"You got lucky," Thor declared through his heavy, rasping breaths.

"You can't get lucky twice," she smirked, referring to the first time she defeated him in Special.

"Of course you can. You can get lucky as many times as you want."

"I think you're just not used to losing."

"Perhaps," he grinned. Sif felt obliged to smile in return. Thor motioned with this head to a bench behind her. "Water?"

"Yeah," she nodded. They walked over to the bleacher-style bench located off the edge of the track. Taking a gulp from her water bottle, Sif looked across the huge field. The arena was moderately-bleachered, very well-maintained, and reeking of fresh plastic. The field itself was covered in garishly green grass with white and yellow mazes marking off end zones and sidelines. Large stadium lights loomed like menacing giants upon the goal posts erected at each end of the field. A small brick house on the far side of the stadium, she could assume, housed much of the school's sports equipment. All in all, Sif thought, the stadium was identical to every other stadium she'd seen in her life. Identical except for, of course, the colossal "MARVEL" spray-painted in the center of the field in crimson block letters.

"How has the school been treating you?" Thor snapped her out of her observation.

"It's been good. Really good actually," she beamed. Sif couldn't help but smile whenever the blond boy talked to her. He was gorgeous, his hair was fucking fantastic, and he was chiseled beyond belief. Sure she was still a little starstruck by his star-athlete status, but after all, it was _Thor Odinson—_she had a right to be.

"That's good to hear."

"What about you? Do you like it here?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, the school has been rather pleasant. I've met some very nice people."

"Oh, me too! I've made some really great friends." But none as famous or good-looking as you, she wanted to say. Sif restricted herself.

But something about the statement bothered Thor. His eyes narrowed after she finished her thought. "I saw you at lunch yesterday." He paused, as if he was giving her time to digest the information. "Are you friends with Loki?"

"Your brother?" She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. He's really good friends with my roommate."

Thor's face became stern. "I don't think you should be friends with him."

Sif giggled. "Why not?" He couldn't possibly be serious.

His expression did not change. "Loki is a bad influence."

"What are you talking about?"

"He has very poor judgment and he cannot control himself. He finds trouble in places void of it and he always engrosses innocent people in his schemes."

"Aren't you being a little dramatic?" she humored.

"No. Loki is not someone to hang around."

"He's a nice guy…"

"He'll get you expelled."

Now Sif understood the sharp glimmer of resentment that appeared in Loki's eyes whenever she brought up Thor. His brother didn't trust him, didn't value him, and only saw him for the mistakes he'd made in the past. "He's your brother."

"So?" The blond didn't see the point in her argument.

"So, shouldn't you have a little _faith_?"

"I've tried having faith."

Sif paused, realizing how ground he was in his opinions. Yes, she liked Thor—she liked him a lot, actually—but she couldn't help but defend his little brother. Maybe it was because she'd known Loki first, because she'd seen the antipathy in his eyes for herself. Maybe the final shine had worn off Thor's celebrity exterior and now she could see him as a human being. "I don't really like that you're telling me who I should be friends with."

"I am not telling you who to be friends with. I am simply stating that I generally avoid befriending people who are friends with Loki."

"Okay," she shrugged. That was that, then. A jerk, even an attractive jerk, wasn't worth her time. Despite being a flirt, Sif valued her sense of independence. Any guy who told her what she could and couldn't do could kiss her ass.

Thor could sense now that she had made her choice. Awkwardly, he shifted on his seat on the bench and drabbed his water bottle. "I'm tired," he said. "I think I'll go back to my dorm."

"Sure, I'll see ya." The blond grinned uneasily and began to walk in the direction of the school. This time, Sif could keep herself from smiling.

X

Walking in from the cafeteria's back entrance, Pepper took her place in the lunch line. Of course, the line wasn't as much of a line as it was an organized buffet specializing in practically every type and taste of food one could imagine. Diversity, as Fury had emphasized, was vital to Marvel's success and the international array of foods proved no different. Pepper grabbed a small bowl and filled it with white rice from the Chinese bar, a nostalgic excuse for the Chinese takeout she'd grown accustomed to after sixteen years in New York.

So far, her first Saturday at the Academy hadn't been too exciting. Jane had run off to research in the library before Pepper had even woken up and dorm room had felt strangely empty without the presence of the benevolent brunette. She spent the morning studying on her own, but found herself consistently distracted from her textbooks by the student profiles she'd found on the school-administered iPad. By noon, she discovered Marvel offered four Olympians, three New York Times Best-Selling authors, and a variety of egocentric playboys.

Pepper made her way over to the drink freezer across from the buffet bars. Mentally debating between strawberry Fanta and Arizona ice tea, she didn't recognize the shallow footsteps clacking in her direction. Not until the familiar voice rang out behind her did Pepper realize the presence: "Ah, look. It's the _businesswoman_ herself."

She could practically hear him smirking. In response, she placed a satirical sneer on her lips and turned around to face the boy. "Tony." He was leaning up against a counter, donning his signature grin, Coke bottle in one hand, a box of unrecognizable food product in the other. "Hi."

"I haven't seen you all week, Pepper."

"Well that's just too bad," she said, absentmindedly grabbing a water bottle.

"You're right. It is too bad." He sounded sincere. "I was hoping we had a class together."

"I thought you were all science."

"I have Government with Johnson." He paused. "And we could've had gym."

"Should've taken Dynamics." Pepper began to walk toward the lunch tables; Tony followed alongside.

"_You _should have taken Combat. You would've been impressed," he snickered. "I'm the best fighter in the class."

"I'm _sure_ you are," she rolled her eyes. Stepping out in the café, she looked around for an acquainted face among the tightly packed tables. Jane and the several students she'd befriended over the past week were nowhere to be seen. In the corner, she spotted a couple girls she vaguely recognized from Business 101—or was it Statistics?

"_Shit_," Tony suddenly murmured.

Pepper saw his eyes verge to back of the cafeteria where a large group of students had just straggled in. At first, she couldn't identify anyone in the crowd, but on closer inspection, the faces began to sharpen. The students, Pepper realized, were the same wannabe hipsters she'd seen following Tony around all week.

"Let's go, uh, sit outside," he suggested, spotting the glass door leading to the patio. Without waiting for a response, Tony took her by the arm and pulled her toward the exit. His grasp was tight, his hand was hot against her skin; even if she'd wanted to resist his tug, his strength was too great for her to counter. Pepper let him pull her out to cobblestone courtyard, but no further than the door; she knew the second she complied with anything he did would be the second he'd start seeing her as toy and not a human.

"What the hell?" she asked, trying to avoid looking at the handprint imprinted above her left elbow.

"Sorry, I, uh…" A miracle, Pepper thought, Tony Stark at a loss for words. After a short pause, he finally smirked, "I can't stand them."

"Aren't they your friends?" She plopped the rice bowl on a small, circular table.

"No, they're more like my stalkers," he said as-a-matter-of-factly. He placed his food across from her. "I don't know them, but they all know me. It's a real pain in the ass."

"Oh, the problems of a teenage billionaire!" Pepper piped sarcastically.

"Oh god, you have no idea! All the reporters, all the press, all the people who think they're friends with you!" She couldn't to what extent he's was being serious. They sat down on the squeaky metal chairs. "It's a tough life."

"But someone's gotta do it, right?"

Tony smiled and thought for a second. "I like you, Pepper."

"Wow, _what_ an honor, thank you _so much_, Mr. Stark."

The young man chuckled. "Exactly! You don't care _at all_ about my name or my money or anything!" He paused for little, "And you still like me!"

Pepper raised her eyebrows. "How do you know I like you?"

"Well, we're having lunch, aren't we?"

No quick comeback came to her straight away because she couldn't deny the statement. _Damn, _she thought, disappointed, Tony had a valid reason and he would get the laugh.She broke off eye contact with the boy and focused on taking out the chopsticks from the small, paper pouch. Her counterpart, in turn, began to open box he'd picked up in the café. The silence was only momentary, but Pepper needed a distraction to avoid spiraling into another conversation she'd have trouble defending. She spied the strange food Tony just unwrapped. "What _is _that?"

"It's shawarma!" He was extensively ecstatic.

"What the hell is shawarma?"

"I have no idea, but it's delicious! I've had it for lunch everyday for the past week!"

"That's gross."

"No, it's amazing! You should try some!"

"I'm good."

The conversation continued; in the midst of discussing school and self, the handprint faded away.

X

Jane closed the physics textbook on the desk and stuffed it into her bag along with the composition notebook and the carefully rubber-banded array of highlighters and pens. She she lifted the bag off the floor and tossed it over one shoulder, trying her best not to disturb her fellow students in the close to silent library. Making her way across the huge, book-lined chamber, Jane flashed a quick smile at the librarian situated at the mahogany desk in the center of the room.

She'd spent the previous six hours stuck in the clammy work area, reading and rereading the physics, chemistry, and molecular biology notes she'd taken in class and scribbling down new ideas from the books she'd found in the library. The workload at Marvel, Jane had discovered first hand, was ridiculous to say the least: six hours of work and she had yet to complete an assignment for a single class. She wondered whether everyone else at the Academy was having the same coursework dilemmas; then she remembered that her strictly science-based schedule was one of the most rigorous in the school.

Jane glanced at the vintage watch on her wrist: 2 o'clock—it was well past her daily lunchtime. The cafeteria was located on the other side of campus, but it was close behind the dormitory building. She could stop by the café, grab something to eat, and finish her assignments in her dorm room. Maybe she could even let Pepper distract her from her studies for a little.

Swinging the large, brass-rimmed doors, Jane stepped outside into the cool August air. She liked how there were enough clouds in the sky to softly shade the campus, but not enough to deny sunlight's warm sensation on her skin. She padded down the cement sidewalk, serenely entranced in the bliss of the summers day.

"Oh hey!" Jane heard a voice proclaim somewhere behind her. She stopped in her tracks and turned around to see a tall blonde emerging from one of the humanities sub-buildings. The girl quickly paced to her side. "You're Jane, right?"

The blonde appeared familiar. "Yeah."

"Hi, I'm Christine," she said with a strained smile.

"Nice to meet you," she tried to smile back. The girl obviously wanted something from Jane, but had the dignity to not ask straight out. Her intelligence? No, Christine was pretty enough to seduce some smart boy into doing her homework. Her money? No, her family wasn't even rich and the blonde's Coach tote proved she could afford whatever she wanted. No, whatever the girl wanted was personal and despite any small talk she might try to make, Jane knew the request would be the core of the girl's approach.

"Are you going to the dorms?" Christine questioned.

"Cafeteria and then to the dorms."

"Oh, well we can walk that way." The girls began to walk toward the large, castle-style building on the other half of campus. "So how's your first week been?"

"It's been good." Jane didn't feel the need to elaborate to strangers. "What about you?"

"Oh, it's been fantastic! I love _everything _about this school! I mean, everyone here is so great! The teachers are great, the students…" She zoned out while Christine extended her monologue. At least the girl was trying, not just asking about whatever she wanted straight out; Jane had to give her that.

She didn't realize how long the blonde had been talking for until she found herself a couple hundred meters from the cafeteria's back entrance. Christine seemed to notice the change in scenery as well and completed the overworked speech. Instead she asked, "Oh wait, you're friends with Bruce Banner, right?"

Bruce? What could she want with Bruce? "Yeah…"

"And Bruce is, like, roomies with Tony Stark, isn't he?"

Ah, there it was. Of course Christine was after Tony, just like so many of the other preppy rich girls in the school. Jane couldn't understand why everyone looked at him as if he were a God, as if being with him meant everything in the world. Most of the girls that wanted him didn't know him past his image and had no intention to. "Yeah, he is."

"Oh really? Oh, that was just a guess!" Yeah, I'm sure, Jane thought. "Could _you_ tell _Bruce_ to tell _Tony_ to come talk to me?"

"Any particular reason?"

"No, I just want to talk to him about a couple things," Christine smiled.

"Sure, I'll tell him," she smirked in return.

"Thanks so much! It was _really _nice to meet you, Jane." She looked toward the dormitories. "I'll see you around!"

"Bye."

Christine turned around and strutted toward the main administration building, heels _click-clack_ing on the sidewalk. Jane raised her eyebrows and walked into the cafeteria. Of course, she had no intention of telling Tony about Christine. If the girl was desperate enough to use _her _as a wing-woman, she had no chance with the billionaire to begin with. Jane disapproved of girls who didn't have the courage to do something as simple as talking to a boy on their own.

Of course, she knew, there was another reason she would never tell Tony about Christine. Prior to orientation, Jane had directly observed the romantic intensity between the billionaire and her redheaded roommate. Despite any denials, there were definitely sparks between Tony and Pepper; Jane would never let go of a possible relationship for her good friend in favor of some random blonde who valued form over function.

Grabbing a salad and a bottle of lemonade, Jane exited the café and headed toward the dorms. No, Tony would never know of Christine's request; after all, the less competition he thought Pepper had, the better.

X

Bruce looked across the open field to the beginnings of the forest on the far end of campus. In theory, anything past the school fields was government property and students were restricted from trespassing onto the government lands. But it was half past seven and he hadn't seen any teachers or administrators outside the indoor facilities all day. If he pretended to know what he was doing, he could pass into the forest without raising any suspicion.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his loose khakis, he began walking along the exterior of the field. He kept his eyes on the path ahead of him, knowing that turning around to check behind him would only stress him out. Eventually, he crossed to the edge of the school grounds. There, he took a quick glance over his right shoulder; the school was quiet and there was no one outside to see him enter the restricted zone. Bruce turned around and plodded a new path into the forest.

He didn't know what his intention was for wandering into the unknown on a Saturday night. His day had been quiet, uneventful, yet he still wanted to get away from the crammed atmosphere of the school. Bruce had stuck around in his dorm room most of the day doing homework, only leaving his chamber for lunch and to grab a quick breath of air. Tony had slept in until noon and had promised to study with him after a one-hour lunch break; instead, his roommate disappeared without a word for most of the afternoon. Abducted by his infatuated groupies, Bruce assumed; Tony had no shortage of fans in the Academy.

The forest was beginning to thin out and the floor's mushy leaf carpeting was beginning to morph into a stony terrain. Several hundred meters ahead of him, he could see the outline of cliff; he couldn't tell what was beyond it, if anything. Careful not to trip on the sharp rocks beneath his feet, Bruce trudged onward until the forest opened into a clearing.

He emerged on a gravelly ledge scattered randomly with smaller boulders. The shuffling of his feet was rough and noisy, but he could vaguely hear the cyclical crashing of waves somewhere below him. Looking beyond the ground's rocky edge, Bruce saw the soft curves of the sea billowing in the tranquil breeze. The sun was slowly setting into the water resembled a giant orb of blood red fire being swallowed into the Earth.

"Hey," Bruce suddenly heard a voice echo over the water's incessant thrashing. Startled, he whipped his head to side to spot a dark shadow sitting on one of the boulders extending over the edge. Walking closer to the rock, the features of the mysterious figure failed to become more distinguishable. "You just chillin' out here?" the voice asked.

"Yeah," Bruce replied. "The view's nice."

He could see the man nod. "The sunset is…" He paused, searching for an acceptable word, "nice."

"You come here a lot?"

"Just yesterday and today. It's quiet."

This time, Bruce nodded. "It's a good place to think," he suggested.

"To think," he repeated. "Or to not think at all."

The boy seemed to share Bruce's need to escape whatever invisible shackles existed at the Academy. He was relieved to know he wasn't alone in his isolationism, even if he didn't fully understand what instigated it. But, he wondered, did the boy have a reason for wandering into the woods? Did he know the answer of peace would await him on the other side of the forest?

The boy practically read his mind. "It's funny what you can find when you're not looking for anything in particular," he said, looking toward the menacing sun.

Bruce could help but release a quick smirk. No, the boy's path was just as pointless, just as arbitrary as his. They were two kids, lost, but at least they were lost together. "I'm Bruce."

For the first time, the shadow turned his head, revealing the bluish glint of his empty eyes. "Clint."

Bruce nodded and the boy turned his gaze back toward the water. There was nothing they could say, he knew, that could help each find what he wanted. They watched in silence as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon.

X

**Thanks so much for all the support from everyone who read! Thanks to scintillatingshards, Ro Arevalo, ScienceWolf, Akorn, followsrabbit, forever21lupus, and the Guest for reviewing! I appreciate everything so much!**


	6. Chapter 6

Loki sat impatiently at his desk, foot twitching, fingers tapping gently on the edge of his notebook. He could feel the tiny beads of strung out sweat forming on his temples. His mental capacity to remain calm was slowly slipping away as he watched the second hand crawl around the clock. He took a deep breath; anxiety like this wasn't common for him. Maybe he was out of practice; after all, his last hit had been over four months before.

Four months: that was a long time for someone of his skill set to stay clean. Of course after his most recent expulsion, sobriety hadn't become a choice. Thor had gone out of his way to make sure he didn't leave the house; instead of sneaking on trains and partying in Stockholm, Loki spent his summer watching reruns of Doctor Who.

"Is it all ready?" Natasha interjected his nervous train of thought.

"Yes. Now all we need is the professor herself." Out of practice or not, the plan had already been set in motion and there was nothing he could do now but wait.

Out of the corner of his eye, Loki saw the redhead lean in closer to him. "What's gonna happen?" she whispered.

He smirked. "You'll see."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"Oh, it will work." Despite any emotional complications, he possessed no fear that the hit wouldn't go as planned. Design-wise, the plan was perfect.

"What if you get caught?"

"Caught?" Loki scoffed. "I don't get caught unintentionally."

The girl raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Haven't you been _expelled _a couple times?"

"Yes, the first five times I was caught _intentionally_. The sixth was a silly mistake on my part," he winced. "But I made sure not to make any mistakes this time."

"Alright, whatever you say."

Just as Natasha completed her cynical assertion, Professor Hill strode into the classroom. With her black turtleneck, old-fashioned loafers, and a tight brunette bun tied at the back of her head, the teacher looked like a stereotypical schoolhouse hardass. Dumping a stack of worksheets on her desk, she looked first around the room of talkative students, then to the clock on the wall of the classroom that Loki had been gawking at before. She placed her cup of teachers'-lounge coffee by the hard leather briefcase in the center of the table.

Within seconds of the professor's arrival, the piercing school bell resounded through the classroom, sending the agonized students into silence. "Good morning, class," Hill announced in the manner of a military dictator. The remark was greeted with softer reiterations of "Good morning" and the extraction of notebooks from backpacks. Having grabbed the worksheets from her desk, the teacher began to lecture while passing out the papers, "Today, we will continue our exploration of differential equations by examining real-life applications of the topics we discussed over the past week." Snatching a dry erase marker from the shelf, she began to write the mind-numbing equations on the white-board.

Loki's foot began to twitch again. Open the damn briefcase, woman, he thought while attempting to regulate his constrained breathing. Instead of following his mental command, Hill continued to scribble out numbers and spiel about something he didn't care enough to listen to. The finger tapping soon resumed. Just open it, just take a quick peek inside. He clenched his jaw. He couldn't allow the hit to deteriorate like this, but any attempt to coax the teacher into opening it would only reveal him as the perpetrator.

"Please turn to the page in your notebooks where we took notes on Monday," Hill demanded. Most of students in the room flipped fervently to the page while the professor searched her desk. "Those notes were… just here," she pondered out loud. Loki had to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling. They're not on the desk, he thought, so check the case, check the case, check the case, _checkthecase_!—the order shot through his mind. He watched anxiously as the professor moved to the center of the table. _Yes_.

Hill pulled the briefcase toward her and lifted the clips on either side of the lock. She entered the four-digit combination and pressed the button in the center of the display. Nothing. She pressed it again. Still nothing. The teacher reentered the combination and pushed forcefully on the button. Nothing. She stood the briefcase upright and examined it.

"Is this it?" Natasha whispered, voice tainted with disappointment and suspicion.

"Just…" Loki mouthed softly, not taking his eyes off the professor, "wait for it."

Hill hit the briefcase from the side, hoping to startle the lock back into submission. Frustrated, she entered the combination again and pushed on the button with as much force as she could. Suddenly, the briefcase unfastened and a quick flash of light followed by an ear-splitting _pop_ emerged from the open compartment. The teacher let out a high screech, hushing the students and dropping the case onto the table. Just as sudden as the first, a dozen more flashes exploded in the air like tiny bombs, their loud _cracks_ only deafened by Hill's strident shrieks. The classroom stared in awe as the lights crackled in front of the terrified professor. In tandem with the final _bang_, a switch went off on the ceiling and some colored substance rained down on the room. Picking the pieces of their now multicolored desks, the students identified the substance: confetti. The ceiling had just showered them with confetti.

The classroom became dead silent. Hill was at the front of the room, hands shaking with frenzy, hair covered in confetti, and eyes seething with anger and fear. Despite the room-wide incoherence to what had just occurred, no one dared to say a word. After her rough breathing finally settled down, the professor set her hands down on the table and stared at the students. "Okay," she took a deep breath. "Who would like to take credit for that fireworks display?" Silence. "Anyone?" No. "Please, feel free to speak up."

Still, no one dared to say a word. In the moment Hill used to rub her eyes, Natasha shot Loki a glance. "Oh my god," she mouthed. He couldn't respond. The amount of adrenaline running through his blood steam was impairing his function.

Hill proceeded to the space between her table and the student desks. "The Marvel Academy for Gifted Youth is a very prestigious school," she began. "We cannot maintain individuals who strive to physically harm others." She started to walk slowly between the first two rows. "There is no sense of 'tattle-tailing' here at Marvel. I know someone here is aware of who the responsible party is. I would recommend that that someone speak up now." Still, nothing. "Miss Summers, are you aware of who the responsible party is?" she asked a girl at the back of the room.

"No, ma'am," she shook her head.

"Mister—"

"It was them!" The boy sitting one seat ahead of Loki pointed back at him and Natasha. Loki felt his heart drop.

"Miss Romanoff and Mister Odinson," Hill made her way in the couple's direction. The boy that convicted them—the nutcase he'd snapped with a rubber band on the first day, he realized—was still pointing back toward them. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki saw Natasha's eyes narrow into a deadly glare. If looks could kill, he thought, Rubber-band Boy would have been brutally mutilated.

"Mr. Hammer," Hill continued, "how have you become aware of Miss Romanoff and Mister Odinson's involvement?"

"I, I," Rubber-band Boy stammered, "I heard them talking about it."

"Very well, Miss Romanoff, Mister Odinson, please stand up."

"No, no," Loki darted up from his desk. "It was—it was just me."

The professor looked at him with hard, assuming eyes. "Very well," she said through her teeth. "If you say so, Mister Odinson. Let's go." She directed her hand to the doorway across the room. Grabbing his unopened backpack, he started to walk to the exit, followed closely behind by Hill. As he went through the classroom door, the teacher turned and said, "Until I return, please use the time to work on the sheets I handed out earlier." Loki used the momentary distraction to flash his middle finger at Rubber-band Boy.

Locking the door behind her, Hill began prodding down the long hallway to the administration office. He trailed her, backpack slung over one shoulder, his mind void of any means to approach the situation. How the _fuck_, was all he could think. "It won't be possible for you to escape the premises at this point. Even if you leave the school, there is no way to get off the island," she threatened him through his hazy trail of thought.

"I wasn't planning on it," he muttered.

Finally, Loki and Hill reached the end of an extensive, office-lined hallway and stopped in front of a mahogany door. The professor pressed a small button next to a sign reading "Office of Nicholas Fury, Headmaster." The door buzzed open and Hill stepped Loki into a huge, black-carpeted room with a lone desk set in front of two large windows. "Headmaster Fury," the teacher demanded. From behind the desk, the leather chair pivoted to reveal the eye-patched, dark-suited leader of the Academy. "A word."

"Loki, correct?" the man said, standing up from his seat. He approached the couple standing in the doorway. "Please take a seat while I talk to Professor Hill."

Fury and Hill closed the doors behind them, leaving Loki standing alone in the middle of the room. Groggily, he made his way to the pair of seats; dropping his body on one, he lowered his head to the Headmaster's grand desk. Finally, he had time to process the situation. Well, first, the hit had worked like a charm: the fireworks were exquisite and the confetti—his personal touch—had worked exceptionally well. His cover, though, had been blown by a measly nerd with no respect for the Trickster's Code of Conduct. Everyone in America—hell, everyone in the whole fucking world—understood that there was a vow of silence between comrades who may become engaged in mischief. Loki hadn't even _considered _that so simple could screw him over; never before in his _life_ had a colleague betrayed him. Damn, he should have figured that these high-society blokes would do anything to save their sorry asses.

And with that simple disregard, the whole plan had fallen apart. Now he was stuck in Fury's office where he might _unintentionally_ get expelled. The only good part of the situation was that he had saved Natasha on his way to hell.

Loki groaned and lifted his head off the desk. Neither the Headmaster nor the professor had yet entered the office, deliberately prolonging his agony of not knowing his fate, he assumed. His eyes scoured Fury's paper-cluttered desk until he spotted a folder with a familiar name. Ah, Thor Odinson. Cautiously, he opened the folder. Thor Odinson, age 18, six foot three inches, blonde hair, blue eyes, blah blah blah. The rest of the folder was filled with stats and records and information Loki had heard too many times before at award ceremonies. Just as he was about to close the folder, a small black star by Thor's name caught his eye. He looked closer at the paper; in handwritten ink next to the star was written: _Top candidate for Phase II_. Phase II, Loki thought. What the hell was that?

Just as he was about to give the folder a closer examination, he heard the door behind him bolt shut. He slammed the papers in and pushed the folder back into the pile it had been lying in before. Nonchalantly, he sat back in his chair and waited for the Headmaster and teacher to approach him.

But Hill was not present; Fury was the only one in the room. The man made his way around the desk and back into the leather chair he'd occupied when Loki had been presented. He put his hands down on the table and took a deep breath. "So, I understand you rigged Professor Hill's briefcase with low-impact fireworks which triggered an unforeseeable cloud of confetti to rain down on the classroom?"

Damn, he was good. "Yes."

"Tell me, Mister Odinson," the man looked at Loki ominously. This was it, he thought, another unintentional expulsion. All because he'd held more faith in his classmates than he should have. "How did you crack the lock?"

He practically choked. "Excuse me?"

"How did you crack the lock on Professor Hill's briefcase?"

"Oh, uh, fingerprint powder," he couldn't help but feel embarrassed. "I noticed the general pattern of the combination a couple days earlier and I guessed from there."

There was a tense silence. "Very clever, Mister Odinson."

Loki's lungs flooded with relief. "Thank you."

Another tense silence. "Why confetti?"

He shrugged. "No particular reason, but I have realized that eccentricity is key in these types of things."

The man nodded. "Do you recall an incident that occurred close to your hotel in Stockholm two years ago?"

His throat clenched. "I do not."

"A small diner was robbed. The thieves were never caught."

Of course he remembered: he'd uninstalled the security cameras himself to make sure he and his friends would never be apprehended. The crime had no witnesses and the police found no implicating evidence at the scene. The fact that Fury even _knew _about the event terrified him. "I'm sorry. I don't think I remember that."

The Headmaster stared at him with his one good eye. "You are a very intelligent young man," he said. "I hope that you will not waste your talents on petty crime."

"Of course not, sir."

Fury took a deep breath. "I hope you understand what you did was wrong. We do not advocate violence here at the Marvel Academy."

"Except for the Combat Training gym course, right?" Loki couldn't restrain himself from talking back.

"Combat Training is organized violence." He paused. "If you cause any greater disturbances, I may be forced to take greater action."

"Yes, sir."

"As punishment, you will eat lunch in the detention area instead of the cafeteria. I suggest you make your way there right now, unless you want to face a very angry mathematics professor." Loki nodded. "Your actions will be reflected in this Friday's updated rankings."

"Yes, sir." He stood up.

"Mister Odinson?"

"Yes?"

"I am not currently inclined to provide knowledge to the Stockholm Police Department." Fury's eye narrowed. "_Currently_."

He wanted to say something in return, but implicating himself would only strengthen the Headmaster's leverage. "Yes, sir."

"You are free go. Please make your way down the hall. The detention area will be the last door on your right."

"Thank you, sir." Loki turned around and made his way out the mahogany doors. He didn't know how to feel about the situation: he hadn't been expelled, but he had been threatened with information about a crime that—he thought—had been perfect. But if he stayed out of trouble for a while, he should be fine. Finally, he allowed himself a soft sigh of relief. Since he wasn't expelled, he could now figure what he would do about Rubber-band Boy. Thoughts of vengeance and reprisal swirled around in his head, but in the back of his mind, the small black star was still floating around.

X

"We'll definitely need to talk that over with Fury," Steve said, grabbing a Gatorade from the cafeteria fridge.

"Yes, it doesn't make sense for the administration to deny us the weight gym prior to morning classes," Thor exclaimed. "Phillips can vouch for us."

"Exactly! Being in Special has to count for something!"

The roommates had been trying to convince the gym staff to allow them to train in the mornings before school, but the teachers had denied their requests. It was ridiculous, Thor thought, that the school didn't trust two eighteen-year olds with sports equipment they'd been working with their entire lives.

"I agree and—" He tried to continue, but a student loudly interrupted him from the other end of the buffet:

"But man, it was the coolest thing ever!"

Thor resisted from sending the over-eager boy a dirty look and tried to begin his statement again. "I—"

"There were like, _fireworks_, in her briefcase!" He stopped in his tracks. Fireworks. Oh god no…

"How the hell can you put fireworks in a briefcase?"

"I don't know, but it was _insane_. They all went off one after the other and then a _ton _of confetti fell on us out of nowhere!"

"Confetti?"

"Yeah, it was so legit!"

"What happened to him?" Thor had suddenly appeared behind the two boys.

"What?" the scrawny sophomore was caught off guard.

"The boy who set off the fireworks. _What happened to him_?"

"I, I don't know, the teacher sent him to Fury's and he didn't come back for the rest of the period."

"When was this?"

"Like, a half hour ago."

Without a "thank you", Thor stormed back to the end of the long table where he had left his lunch tray. Steve was standing by the entrance to the café, eyebrows scrunched together in the middle of his forehead. "What was that?" the blond asked.

"Loki." He put his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. "Loki is a dumbass."

"Why? What'd he do?"

"He just managed to get himself expelled," Thor gritted through his teeth.

"What?" Steve was astonished. "How?"

"Some _fucking _prank!" he said louder than he would've wanted. His rage was beginning to seep to his usually composed surface. No, he had to calm down; he couldn't show his anger on Loki's behalf. Thor took a deep breath. "I don't know," he shook his head, "he just did something stupid."

"Okay, are you sure he got expelled?" his roommate wanted to know.

"No, I am not sure."

"Okay, so, we'll just ask around and see if anyone knows that happened, and if there's a problem, then we'll just fix it." Steve, as rational as always. Every issue, Thor thought, had a solution in the man's mind.

"Okay," he agreed. The American was correct, after all. He was not positive that his brother had met his end, but fireworks, he remembered, had gotten him expelled twice before.

The friends made their way to their usual table. Several students were already situated around the circular bench, eating and talking and laughing just as they had every other day. On their approach, Steve took charge: "Have any of you heard what happened to Loki?"

"Oh, that's your brother, right?" an unidentified student piped, looking at Thor.

"He was sent to Fury's office," a girl named Hope said.

"I saw him going to the detention center before lunch," Lester added.

"Was he expelled?" Thor asked.

"I don't think so."

"I'll attempt to contact him before fourth period," Thor said quietly to Steve.

"Good plan."

The roommates sat down at the table among their colleagues, who jubilantly resumed the conversations they engaged in before the distraction. Thor, though, couldn't bring himself to speak. Loki's stupidity, Loki's ignorance, Loki's this and that—all of it was jumbling in his head. For the majority of the lunch period, the blond sat in silence while his friends' blissful cackles echoed around him. Twenty minutes before the lunch hour was complete, he decided he had waited long enough. "I'll try to meet him," he whispered to Steve.

"Alright. Good luck," the boy encouraged.

Tossing the duffle-style backpack over his shoulder and throwing away his half-eaten lunch, Thor exited the cafeteria through the outdoor patio. Quietly, he walked inside the courtyard—the place Loki would, most likely, attempt to short cut through. He leaned up against a corner wall void of windows and began to stare down the administration office's side door. After ten minutes of nothing, he began to ponder whether his brother had really been locked up in the detention center. Just as he was about to abandon his post, a slim figure in red t-shirt emerged from the building. Thor waited until his brother was several feet away to appear from the shadow of the corner.

"Loki," he asserted.

The boy jolted from his fast-paced walk. "Oh god, Thor, I did not see you there."

In a split second, Thor shot up in front of his brother and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "Did you get expelled?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" he mocked.

"_Did you—_"

"_No_." Thor clenched his jaw. "Now let me go."

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Loki?"

"_Let me go_," the boy was gripping onto Thor's muscular arm. Instead of listening to his brother's demand, he tightened his grip on the shirt, twisted him around, and pinned him onto the castle's brick wall.

"_What is wrong with you_?" Thor growled through his teeth.

"There's nothing wrong with me!"

"Then _what are you doing_?"

"I'm just having a little _fun_. Sorry, it's not something you would understand!" Thor pushed him harder against the wall.

"You little _bitch_. You made me _a promise_."

"Yes, I did," Loki smirked, "and I _kept _my promise. Trust me, I wasn't _trying _to get expelled, but I'll _let you know _when I am!"

"Fine. Then I'll maintain my end of the deal." He released the grip on his brother's shirt.

"Oh, thank you, Thor, I really—"

_Bam_! Thor's huge first socked Loki in the side of the face, sending him to the ground. Resting on one elbow, Loki covered his complexion with his other hand. Thor looked down on the miserly shade of his younger brother lying on the grass. "I am not your knight in shining armor. You fell," he paused, "so get yourself up."

Grabbing his backpack from opposite wall, Thor proceeded back in the direction of the cafeteria. They were done: as friends, as comrades, as brothers. This had been the final breaking point and he had snapped. And Thor knew from experience that once you snapped, there was no going back.

X

**I know this chapter was excessively Loki-centered, but I felt he needed the attention and there's really no such thing as an excess of Loki Thanks to everyone who reads and comments and encourages me to keep writing! Thanks to PopsicleofDeath, Your Fan, scintillatingshards, H. Lokidottir, gouldguin, ScienceWolf, followsrabbit, and the Guests for the reviews! I love all the support! **


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh, _no way_! She's definitely _not _like that."

"That's not what I heard!"

"She is _not _a slut."

The conversation between the three girls at middle of the table had grown gradually louder. At first, the prosaic words of Jane's biology textbook had been enough to tune the whispers out of her mind. Steadily, though, the whispers had turned into cacophonous squeals and the monotonous mentions of _deoxyribose _and _protein synthesis _became insufficient masks. It was without choice that Jane was forced to listen to the weekly gossip of the Marvel Academy for Gifted Youth.

"I'm telling you, she was totally asking for it!"

_Scoff. _Jane looked up. Across from her, Pepper was staring down at Microeconomics textbook, softly shaking her head. Upon feeling her roommate's vision, the redhead raised her eyes. "Oh my god," she mouthed.

Jane rolled her eyes. The roommates had woken up early that Friday morning for quiet study time in the library. Mornings in the dorms were havocked with girls sprinting down the halls, looking for straightening irons to borrow and makeup to barter. The library, they had decided, would be much more convenient and much more vacant than the girls' wing. And they had been right—except for them, the three girls near the middle, and a boy two chairs down from Pepper, the library was empty. But—just her luck—the three girls were the three loudest, most obnoxious, and least considerate gossips in the school.

"They don't even know what they're talking about," Pepper mouthed again. "Wanda is definitely _not _a slut."

Jane shrugged. She hadn't been paying enough attention to the content of the girls' arguments to know exactly who they were discussing.

"Oh! Have you seen Peggy and… uh…"

"Steve?"

"Steve! Oh my gosh, they are _so _cute together!"

"Are they actually together?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Wait, does she, like, not want it?"

"No, I think its him."

"Him?"

"I think he's shy."

"Shy? With that body, I'm sure girls are all over him!"

"I think he's, like, classy. Like a gentleman."

"That's cute, I guess…"

"It's cute if you don't mind taking it slow."

"_Okay_, I think you're the _only _girl in the world who would be complaining."

"_Okay_, well, you guys know who I like."

"Yeah, yeah," the other girls acknowledged in unison. For a moment, a tense silence crept over the library while the three girls failed to speak.

Jane looked at Pepper again. She was propped up on her elbow, her hand forming an ineffective, makeshift barrier between her face and the girls to her left. The light creases on her forehead screamed annoyance, but the dullness of her usually emerald eyes implied boredom. Jane couldn't tell whether her roommate was more likely to yell at the girls for being so pathetic or to tell them to recall some more interesting gossip.

"Wait, did you hear something about him?" the girl with the crush questioned her friends.

"Um…" one of the girls stuttered, "kind of."

"Well, what is it?"

"Well… he's been hanging out with some girl."

"Who?" she demanded.

"I don't know, some ginger."

From the corner of her eye, Jane glimpsed a sudden movement. She looked up. Pepper was still staring at her textbook, but now her jaw was clenched and her face had tensed up. Slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes weren't dull now, no—they were a deeper shade of green and they were filled with what appeared to be concern.

"Really? A _ginger_?" the girl scoffed. "I can't believe _Tony Stark_'s macking a ginger."

Pepper's face was frozen now. Her whole body, in fact, was stiff, as if staying still would make her invisible if the girls happened to look over.

"I didn't say they were _macking_, Christine, I just heard they were hanging out."

Wait—the thought suddenly hit Jane—Christine? Christine who'd tried to make a move on Tony a week earlier? She looked over at the girls. Yes, the same wavy, blonde hair, the same Coach tote stacked up on the desk next to her. How hadn't she noticed her before? Well, she realized almost immediately, she had done all she could to ignore the girls' gradually loudening conversation.

"Tony doesn't just 'hang out' with girls. There's _always _something else."

Not necessarily, Jane thought. Or, at least she hoped.

"Maybe they're just friends."

Christine scoffed again. "I hope so." She was quiet for a moment. "It better not be that Romanoff chick."

"No, no, it's definitely not Natasha," her friend assured.

"How are you so sure?" Her question packed a bite.

"Natasha already has, like, two boyfriends."

"Who?"

"Well, there's the blond one…"

"Clint."

"Clint Barton?"

"He's _kind of _cute."

"He has absolutely _no_ ranking," Christine exaggerated.

"But he's not bad…"

"I wouldn't give him a second thought, if I were you," the blonde concluded.

Damn, Jane didn't know who Clint was, but he sure as hell didn't deserve _this_.

"And there's the other one…"

"With the black hair…"

"And the tight jeans…"

"And the nice ass…"

"Loki!"

"Loki?" Christine started to remember something. "Wait, like, Thor Odinson's little brother? Oh. My. God," she began dramatically, "You have no idea what I heard about him."

The conversation had shifted from Pepper and Tony as quickly as it had begun and Jane felt roommate relax. It was strange, though, that she would react so fearfully to the comments of a couple classless girls. After all, Pepper and Tony weren't even together. At least, not as far as Jane knew.

"Okay, so you know how he pulled that weird firework thing in class on Wednesday?" Christine continued.

"Oh, yeah, I was there! It was so c—"

"Well, I heard he got sent to the Director's office and after that, he showed up in the nurse's office with a black eye."

"You think Fury did that?"

"Well who would have?"

"What did he tell the nurse?"

"He said _he fell_."

"He definitely didn't fall."

"Do you actually think the Director would do something like that?"

"He might."

"I actually heard something else about that."

"What?" Christine and one of her friends questioned.

"Okay, so you know how he's friends with Natasha Romanoff?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, Natasha's roommate is Sif Alexander and I heard she hooked up with Loki."

"Yeah."

"_Except_ Thor had a thing for Sif."

"Mh-hm."

"So Thor was so pissed that he tried to beat him up."

"That's stupid."

"What?" The girl was dejected. "Why?"

"Thor would never do that to his brother."

"Not what I heard."

"I still think its Fury," Christine remarked.

"Okay, well, I heard another story, too!"

"What?"

"I heard it was Clint Barton."

"Why?"

"Natasha, obviously! She likes hooking up with Loki more than she likes hooking up with Clint."

"Clint could _never _take him."

"Well he didn't _take _him, he just punched him in the face."

"Maybe Loki hooked up with Natasha _and _Sif and then Clint and Thor got pissed."

"I don't think Thor had anything to do with it."

"So if it was just Clint, was it both girls?"

"Maybe Clint caught them all hooking up in his dorm."

"Like a threesome?"

"Okay!" an alien voice suddenly interrupted. Jane turned her head to the edge of the table. There, the boy two chairs down from Pepper, was now standing up, textbooks in hand. The paleness of his skin and the darkness of his hair did little to hide the black-and-blue circle around his left eye.

He began to walk toward the middle of the table. "Contrary to what you and the people telling you these stories believe, I am actually not a whore." Jane shivered. Even though his piercing stare wasn't directed at her, she could still feel its icy presence. "_No_, I didn't fall, and _no_, it was not Fury. Congratulations Contestant Number Two," he said sarcastically, "for correctly assuming that my _brother's _responsibility, but _no_, it was not because of Sif, it was not because of Natasha, and Clint had no involvement in the incident at all. Perhaps the next time you ladies choose to use the predicaments of others as your own personal entertainment, maybe you should check that the people you are attempting to describe aren't present in the _direct_ vicinity." And with that, Loki Odinson marched out of the library.

Jane turned to Pepper. Her roommate was already looking back at her, a timid smile forming quickly on her lips. Together, they looked at the girls in the middle of the table. They were silent, stunned; not even Christine could find a response. Without uttering a word, the girls picked up their bags and began heading toward the exit Loki had just streamed out of.

"That was amazing," Pepper muttered, a huge grin forming on her face as she watched the girls file out of the building.

"I can't believe they said all those things about him and he was right there."

"I know." She thought for a while. "That boy is my hero."

"What," Jane chuckled, "jealous he had the guts to tell them off?"

Pepper looked at her attentively. "Maybe," she said at last. "But I'd rather let them think what they want about me."

"Why?"

"I'm the ginger Tony Stark's hanging out with. How much more mysterious can I get?"

Jane giggled. Her friend had a point—the mask of anonymousness gave her an advantage. It made her identity that much more interesting, and Christine's chances that much less existent.

X

"_Center!_" Derneir screamed at the top of his lungs across the crowded gym. The cliques of students huddled in the corners and against the walls were more talkative than usual. Maybe because it was a Friday, maybe because the past week had been fruitful with its gossip, or maybe the students had started talking because they could feel, like a sixth sense, that there would something even more interesting to talk about after that gym period was over. That something would not surprise Dernier, but the news of that Friday's Combat class would spread over the Marvel lunchroom like wildfire. It would not stop until everyone at the Academy had heard and reheard its origins, and it would start something that no one, not the Coach, not even Fury would expect. Maybe the students were prepping themselves for the coming storm.

Slowly, the cliques began to unglue themselves from their posts and stagger into the center of the gymnasium. Dernier felt the urge to yell at the kids to _Get their asses movin'_, but he'd realized over the past couple weeks that the students had already grown immune to his loud-mouthed directions. And he knew that his yells would be whispers in comparison to the awfully recognizable taunts coming from the center of the crowd.

"And I said to him, 'Do you know who I am?' and he just looks at me with this blank stare, so I take off my sunglasses," he motioned the action to his audience, "and I say, 'I'm Tony _fucking _Stark.'"

The group erupted into laughter from the girls and a chorus of "Damn right"s from the boys. The dark-haired playboy at the front of the pack finally arrived in the center of the gym in front of Dernier. He looked at the Coach, hoping to recognize the same harsh grin that indicated another day of target practice, but the man wore another expression this day. It wasn't angry, it wasn't strict, it was just cold. Whatever the teacher had in mind, it was out of the ordinary. Tony smirked. Being _extra_ordinary was something he excelled at.

"Listen up!" Dernier yelled once the entire class had gathered. "Today, we're gonna do something a little different." Tony bit his cheek to keep himself from smiling any wider. "We are going to have a tournament." A wave of murmurs spread across the crowd. "STOP…" the whispers quieted down, "…talking." The Coach looked around the gym to the array of puzzled and terrified faces. "There are thirty of you in this class. That means two of you will not be competing in the first round. These two are the two students that rank highest on the Academy Ranking list." He paused dramatically. "Those two will be Stark—" A surge of squawks and bellows vented from the group surrounding Tony. He smiled. However annoying they might be, he knew he could do without an entourage.

"The other—" Dernier tried to say above the clamor. "The OTHER…" The voices quieted. "The other will be Romanoff." There was no noise, no applause. Tony looked around at his confused classmates. Romanoff. Who the hell was Romanoff? "The rest of you will fight in the first round," Coach continued. "Whoever wins goes on to the next round. Whoever loses…" he glanced around, eyebrows scrunched in judgment, "will be out. Any questions?" None. "Alright, assignments are as follows: Bukharov fight Sykes; Barton fight Fisk…"

"Hey, who's this Romanoff dude?" Tony turned around to Logan, one of the few other capable fighters in the class.

"Beats me." There were always some guys hanging out in the back, some who hardly talked, whom Tony didn't know. "Doubt he's any good though."

"But he's higher than me," Logan said, referring to the rankings, "and I'm tenth on that fucking list."

"Doesn't matter. You'll kick his ass if you fight him." The guy was good, Tony had to admit. He was smart, he was strong, and he was damn fast. The noticeable scars on his classmate's body were proof of prior victories, most of which, Tony assumed, hadn't come about in classroom setting. Yeah, the son-of-a-bitch was solid, but he was better. He didn't want to downgrade his friend or pretend he wasn't great, but it was simple: he was Tony Stark and he was just _better_.

"Whatever, man…" Logan trailed off. "But, you know, I could see us having a nice little final."

"Yeah, putting on a show for the girls…"

"I'll pin you down…"

"Show 'em an example…"

"Winner gets the hottest one."

"And loser gets the rest."

"Damn right," the boy chuckled.

"Find a location and begin!" Dernier screamed.

"See ya later, Stark."

"Kick ass, Howlett." And Tony was alone in the middle of the floor.

He looked around at the pairs fighting around him. Some of the stances he saw were tragic, the positioning pathetic, the poorly timed punches just ridiculous. He turned his back and looked around the gymnasium. He saw Logan and Christine and some of the other students that followed him around, but there was no sign of a Romanoff standing awkwardly somewhere on the mats like he was.

Warily, Tony turned back to the kids he'd been watching. He grinned when saw a lucky swing sent one of the competitors to the ground. He was sure this was how most of his class fought: punches thrown by luck and hope, kicks by chance and faith. No one had his strategy, his intelligence, his plan. Sure, there was Logan and a few others, but nothing compared to him. Tony took a deep breath. _Piece of cake_.

"Second round!" Dernier yelled once half the students had been eliminated. "Stark versus Fisk…"

Tony didn't listen long enough to hear anyone else's assignments. Quickly, he stepped onto one of the mats, followed by a boy who looked like a twelve year old and fought like a baby. Right punch, left punch, block, left hook, right kick. Done. The boy was on the ground.

"Quarterfinals!"

Block, block, right hook, left kick, right punch, duck, right kick, left punch. Done. Still too easy.

"Semifinals!"

Left punch, right punch, block, right hook, ki—a tense weight hit his the side of his leg. _Fucking trick shot_, Tony thought, regaining his balance. His opponent had been stupid to get up when he was vulnerable. _Fine, you think you're clever? _Right punch, left punch, right punch, left punch, duck, right hook, spin, aaaand right kick. Done. The boy was on the ground. _Now who's clever?_

"Yeah, Stark!" a voice Tony didn't recognize sounded from behind. He turned around, surprised to see the rest of class standing up against the sideline, watching him. When the hell did they get there? He grinned to audience, not to express his approval, but to mask his confusion. He'd probably been too focused to notice them before, he figured. Maybe they'd been there the whole time.

"Finals!" Dernier announced.

Tony saw Logan at the front of the sideline group. His friend had to have already won his semi. "You ready, Howlett?" he asked jokingly.

His friend didn't look amused. "I think the question is, are _you _ready, Stark?"

Tony laughed, but Logan didn't.

"Stark versus Romanoff!" Coach bellowed.

"Romanoff?" Tony looked directly at his friend on the sideline. "I thought you won?"

Logan shook his head passively. "Girl kicked my ass."

"_Girl?_"

"Stark," a voice stopped Tony dead in his questioning. He turned around. Behind him was a girl, half a foot shorter than him, with auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun. She was sporting an all black ensemble—black shirt, black leggings, black shoes, black headband, even a tight black bracelet around her small wrist. All in all, she was pretty threatening, but it wasn't like Tony Stark would admit that in his lifetime.

"Is this for real?"

"You scared, Stark?"

"Scared?" he laughed sarcastically. "I'm not fighting a _girl_."

"Because you think you might lose?"

"_No_," now the chick was getting annoying, "guys aren't allowed to punch girls."

She smirked. "Luckily, that rule doesn't go both ways, so I could just beat you _now _or you could actually _try _and we could have some fun."

"Bitch" was the only word that came to Tony's mind. She was screwing with him—or trying to at least—but he couldn't let it get to him. No, all he needed to do was beat her, prove to her that she had no permission to act like this to him. Did she even _understand_ who she was messing with? After all, he was Tony _fucking _Stark.

"Fine." He flashed his signature grin, watching as the girl's jaw clenched ever so slightly. "Whatever you like, Miss Romanoff."

"You ladies gonna take all day?" Dernier asked from the sideline.

"We're ready," Tony replied, voice strained with malice.

Romanoff backed up and he followed her. The audience, which had been talking in shuttered whispers, grew silent. The pair took their stances; hers was good, Tony noticed, stable, balanced, loose—too loose. If he could get her off her game fast enough, she would stumble. And when she fell, he would show no mercy.

Tony decided to wait for her to make the first move. She was quiet, calculating, she was watching his muscles twitch the same he was watching hers. Finally, she took a step in and swung with her right arm. He blocked it. Her recovery was instant, but he went for the swing anyway. With his left arm, he swung to the left side of her body, head straight, teeth clenched. She barely ducked the punch. _Close_, he thought, _next ti_—

_Snap!_ Tony's left arm twisted in a rush of pain and adrenaline. _What the_—he twitched his eyes fast enough to see the girl clutching his arm, bending it into a hideously unnatural position. Just as fast as the action occurred, she let go of him, throwing him back into his stance, eyes foggy, arm stinging. Before he could adjust, a leg met his back from behind with an agonizing _crack_, tumbling him forward. Just as he stopped falling, a punch met his left cheek with surprising strength. Tony felt the blood streaming into his mouth and he swung aimlessly into the air. It was useless. In a motion he couldn't understand, he was lifted off the ground, twisted around what felt like the girl's shoulder, and thrown against the floor on his back.

The sequence had happened so fast Tony could hardly move. His eyes were blurry with emerging tears of pain, but he could make out Romanoff's small figure bending down next to him. Even through his heavy breathing, he could make out the soft whisper: "Guess being number one doesn't mean _a damn thing_."

The girl stood up and Tony began to make sense of his surroundings again. His classmates on the sidelines were shuffling their feet and talking; even in his state, he could hear the shock in their voices. Someone in the background, he heard Dernier: "Natasha Romanoff, week two combat champion." The words made him want to scream, but he could hardly talk.

After a couple more seconds, Tony finally got the strength to pick himself up on his elbows. He didn't dare look at his classmates—their judgments were the last thing he needed right then. Instead, he got up on his knees and finally on his feet, maneuvered himself around the startled group of students, and walked toward the water fountain on the other end of the gym.

Tony turned on the fountain with one hand and splashed his face with water. _What the actual hell?_ _How was it possible that someone could fight like that? _He poured more water on his face.

"Tough." Tony turned his head to see a blonde boy standing by the water fountain opposite him. "She kills me like that everyday."

"Except I'm not you." _I'm so much fucking better than you'll ever be_, he wanted to add, but resisted the urge.

"I'm just saying, she's fucking good so don't be a bitch about it."

_Who the hell was this kid? _"What?"

"Just relax, man."

_Who did he think he was? _"I'm assuming you're friends with her?"

"Well," he said unsteadily, "I mean, I guess."

"What's your name?"

"Barton."

"Barton? Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." And with that, Tony walked away.

When he got back to the crowd, the students were already strolling toward the changing rooms, still preoccupied with the spectacle they had just experienced. Logan had stayed back behind the group to wait for Tony. "Told ya she was good," he said half-jokingly.

"Too good." The thought had slowly been creeping up his mind.

"What are you gonna do?"

"What am I gonna do?" Tony looked at his friend. Her final words were still echoing in his mind. "I am going to _end _her and her stupid little sidekick."

"End her? Isn't that a bit dramatic?"

"Not at all." He was dead serious.

"Okay, so how are you gonna do it?"

Finally, Tony smirked. "Doesn't matter. I'm Tony _fucking _Stark."

X

**I am so, so, SO sorry for not posting in forever! Thanks for all the people who reviewed and told me to keep writing because they liked my story! I really appreciate the support! Hope you guys like this! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

Amadeus Cho had barely woken up, put on his glasses, and fixed himself a cup of Earl Gray when he heard a knock on his dorm door that Saturday morning. Stealing a glance at the watch on top of his dresser, he grimaced. 7:38. Who in the world had the decency to show up at his room before 8 o'clock on a weekend? More accordingly, he thought, who at Marvel had the capacity to _wake up _before 8 o'clock on a weekend?

Cautiously, he pulled the door open, half hoping the knock had been a figment of his imagination. But standing in front of him was a tall, dark young man, seemingly out of character in a Black Sabbath shirt and jeans.

"Hey, you busy?" Tony Stark nonchalantly asked, arm leaning against the framing of the door.

"Um…" He'd been hoping for breakfast. "No."

"You think you could help me out?"

Amadeus had never heard Tony make a request. He'd only recognized affirmative statements or long-winding narratives whenever he'd heard the boy's voice echoing through the high school's amphitheater-like lunchroom. Whether he asked people for help at all was disputable. And now, here Tony was, standing in his doorway, looking for a favor.

"Sure."

Without a direct invite, Tony overran Amadeus's small figure and strode into the room. Closing the door behind him, he saw the boy turning on the laptop near his bed from the corner of his eye.

"What do you need help with?"

For the first time that morning—for the first time ever, Amadeus realized—Tony's face was void of self-assurance. "You're good with computers, right?"

"Yeah…" He wasn't quite sure where this was going.

"Do you think you could do something for me?"

Heading over to the wooden chair near his desk, he asked, "How illegal is it?"

"You may or may not be expelled if you get caught."

Amadeus raised his eyebrows. He wasn't surprised at Tony's nonchalance in the situation, but rather that the boy would choose to include him in his scheme at all. Bruce could hack too, he knew, but instead, the boy had risen early on a Saturday morning to show up at his doorstep. But Bruce was a good kid—he wasn't one for violence or conflict and definitely would not approve of any activity that could compromise anyone else's education. So whatever Tony wanted involved a morality issue.

Amadeus logged onto to his MacBook. "Who are we hacking?"

"Fury."

Now, Amadeus raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sure, it was one thing to hack a teacher's gradebook and mess with your test scores, but Fury was the boss. He was the money and administration—hell, he was the government.

"If you're uncomfortable with this—"

"No, it's fine," he assured the boy. "We'll just cover our tracks. What do you need?"

Tony sat down on the edge of Amadeus's bed. "Can you get into the student files?"

"The ranking profiles?"

"The admissions information."

Amadeus pulled up a program and snapped down on a couple keys. A black textpad appeared on the screen. His friend watched in silence as he maneuvered into the school's mainframe, passing by the personal computers of the teachers to get into the administration. "How many profiles do you need?"

"Two."

Adjusting his glasses, he took another couple stabs at the keyboard until an empty passcode box appeared on the screen. Connecting the information with his program's algorithm, he let the laptop run as it calculated the Headmaster's password. Amadeus leaned back in his chair and stretched.

"What did they do to you?"

"What?"

"Whoever you want to screw over."

Tony's nostrils flared for a fraction of a second. "It's personal."

"I hope it's worth it."

Before either boy could say anymore, a textbox reading "Completed" flashed on the screen. Amadeus pulled back to the laptop and snapped a final few keys into the program. Finally, a list of files developed on the screen. "We're in."

"Find 'Natasha Romanoff,'" Tony demanded, peering over Amadeus's shoulder. At the bottom of the alphabetical list, he found the file. He clicked on it, partially expecting his computer to self-destruct or spontaneously combust. But the file opened with ease. On his screen appeared a series of color and black and white photos, all depicting a red-haired girl. In one, she was wearing black body suit. In another, jeans and a casual jacket. Scrolling through the photos, the headline of a newspaper article appeared: RUSSIAN BILLIONAIRE FOUND DEAD IN HOME, SUICIDE.

"What the hell…" Tony's whisper drifted off as another headline appeared: SERBIAN AMBASSADOR SUCCUMBS TO HEARTATTACK. Amadeus increased the speed of his scrolling until they had surpassed more than a dozen headlines, all announcing a similar, unexpected tragedy.

"Who the hell pissed you off?" Amadeus turned to Tony. But the young man was insistent:

"Scroll down further."

Below the row of photos, a large paragraph of text appeared. Tony read it out loud:

"'Natasha Romanoff, age 15, born in Volgograd, Russia. Parents killed in fire at age three. Member of the Black Widow Ops program, led by Ivan Petrovitch, since age four.' What the fuck is _Black Widow Ops_?"

"Probably not a ballet troupe…"

Tony kept reading. "'Accepted into Department X at age five. Trained in the Red Room facility.'"

Amadeus looked up at him. "Do you know what that means?"

"No idea."

He looked back at the screen. "This doesn't seem like the kind of stuff you can blackmail her with."

"I'm wasn't planning on blackmailing her."

"Then what were you planning to do?"

Directly avoiding the question, Tony demanded, "Look up 'Clint Barton.'"

Amadeus returned to the previous screen and scrolled to the top of the alphabetized list. He clicked on the name and opened the file. A series of photos appeared on the screen, but these featured a scrawny blonde boy holding a bow. This time, Amadeus read the description: "'Clinton Francis Barton. Born in Waverly, Iowa. One brother, Charles Barnard Barton. Parents killed in car accident at age two—'"

"Is this whole fucking school full of orphans?" the dark young man at his side pondered out loud.

Amadeus frowned. "I guess," he said, shrugging a little. He continued: "'Spent six years in orphanage with brother before running away and joining Carson Carnival of Travelling Wonders—'"

Again, the young man interrupted him. "Wait, wait… Did you say _carnival_?"

He looked at the screen again. "Yeah. 'Carson Carnival.'"

A mischievous smile overtook Tony's face. "Let me see." He pulled himself off the bed and closer to the laptop. "'Highly skilled in archery. Acknowledged commercially as "Hawkeye: The World's Greatest Marksman,"'" he dictated. "Did you hear that?" He turned to Amadeus. "_Hawkeye_." He chuckled. "He was in a fucking _circus_."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing—"

"_Not a bad thing_? Are you kidding me?" The twisted smile on Tony's lips was viciously clear. "It's perfect."

Amadeus looked at the kid's photos. The broad shoulders, the toned arms, the defined jaw: he recognized him now. He had seen him around campus, but had never spoken to him. The young man had seemed quiet, reserved, much like him, but with a darker presence. Judging from his humble beginnings, the darkness could be presumed to be an indignation, an aversion toward the wealth that many of his classmates exuded. Looking at him among the circus nets and ring stands, Amadeus couldn't help but feel the pity for the young man. Whatever he had done to Tony would be no match to what Tony would do to him.

"Thanks for the help, Amadeus." The young man finally stood up. "You ok with deleting your history?"

"Yeah." He absentmindedly punched in a few keys. "It should be fine."

"You should teach me how to do all your hacking shit sometime," Tony smirked.

"Why? You planning on doing this again?"

The boy chuckled. "We'll see how it goes." He began heading toward the door. "Don't study too hard."

"Yeah, I know you won't."

Tony was still chuckling as left the room and closed the door.

And just like that, Amadeus was alone again. He typed a couple more sentences into his computer and waited until his history was erased and his tracker was unrecognizable. He slapped his laptop shut and looked at the clock. 8:03. It was barely past 8 in the morning, and he had already gotten his daily dose of excitement. Tony Stark inherently dragged a cloud of adventure behind him, and it poured over anyone in his presence. Everything he did had an undertone of danger beneath it, and Amadeus couldn't help feel a little joy in aiding Tony with his scheme, even if he had just fucked up an innocent kid's life.

But he had bigger things to worry about than the emotional state of guy he didn't know. He put on a pair of jeans and Converse and left his room. Time for breakfast.

X

"Has he said anything to you since?" Natasha asked her black-haired companion. She and Loki were alone in his dorm room, pretending to study, but instead discussing their current events. Sif had left before Natasha had woken up to run or to study somewhere. Finding no manageable girls still in their dorms, she had migrated to the boys' area, looking out for one of the few friends she'd made. She had found Loki, also alone, copying the calculus class notes from the day his firework show had gotten him kicked out of class. Clint, his roommate, was nowhere to be seen. Studying outside, Loki'd figured. He could just as well have been sitting in a tree, contemplating nature, she thought. The boy had an exaggerated pension for the natural world and an uncanny ability to get lost in it for hours at a time. Natasha could not understand the appeal nature held for Clint.

"Nope. Hasn't even looked at me," Loki raised his eyebrows. "But I don't care. He can go fuck himself." The black and blue memory of his last encounter with Thor was still evident on his face. She hadn't spoken much to the boy since that Tuesday and had barely understood what happened from the scraps of gossip she'd overheard in her classes.

"Did he tell your parents?"

"They haven't said anything to me, so I'm assuming no." He scribbled a couple lines in the notebook on his lap. "Probably waiting for the bruise to fade to tell them."

"Would they do anything?"

"I'm too far away for them to do anything directly." He paused. "Perhaps my breaks will be constrained." Loki scrunched his eyebrows and looked irately at the paper in front of him. Then, with a pronounced adjustment of tone, he changed the subject: "Oh, congratulations on your prize fight yesterday."

Natasha scoffed. "Stark can't punch."

"I heard you kicked his ass."

"More or less."

Loki chuckled. "What a dick. It was about time someone pushed him off his pedestal."

"It wasn't too hard."

Her companion smirked. "Maybe his ego will finally descend to an appropriate level."

Now, Natasha laughed. "Oh, it'll take a lot more than one fight to bring that down."

Just as she was finishing her thought, the door to Loki's dorm room violently opened. A brown-haired boy in a red jacket burst through the door and enthusiastically asked, "Loki! Did you see the new rankings?" Before giving the boy a chance to respond, the brunette saw Natasha sitting cross-legged on the bed opposite Loki. "Oh, hey Natasha!" he said excitedly.

"Hi Rick." Rick Jones was one people she'd gotten to know in her three weeks at Marvel and one of the few she actually liked. He was passionate and enthusiastic—perhaps too enthusiastic for her taste—but he was genuine, a quality she hadn't discovered among many of her other colleagues. The boy wasn't a loner like she and Loki were, but he wasn't wealthy or privileged enough to hang with the likes of Stark and Everhart. He was just there, not shackled to any group, and thus free to associate with any part of Marvel's social chain that he wanted.

"I didn't see them," Loki answered the boy's question.

"Really?" The boy was amazed. "You have to!"

Natasha hadn't noticed the iPad in Rick's right hand until he started punching the touch screen in quick, pointed motions. "You don't really care about those rankings, do you?" Loki asked as the boy was logging in.

"Well yeah," he looked up. "Don't you?" Loki rolled his eyes. "You don't?" The idea seemed to appall him. "But, but it's the class rank!"

"It's just a list," Natasha piped.

"You won't think it's _just a list _after I show you this!" Finally, Rick opened a screen with progression of names and projected to his friends. "What was your ranking before this week, Loki?"

"I don't know."

"Like, low forties, fifties, right?"

"Sure."

"Well, look at your ranking now." He stuck the iPad closer to the dark-haired young man.

Loki mulled over the list. "Hmm… I don't see mys—"

"Look higher."

He scrolled up on the screen. "Mm… fourteen."

"Fourteen!" Rick beamed. "You're _fourteenth_."

Loki shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

"Come on! You, you jumped, like, thirty spots in one week and the only thing you did was that firework thing!"

"You think Fury bumped him up for breaking the rules?" Natasha asked.

"What else would he have done it for?"

The students stayed quiet for a while. All Loki could manage was, "That's strange."

"Yeah." Rick's excitement had finally died down. "Oh, and Natasha," he remembered, "I heard about Combat yesterday." He grinned. "Good job! But your, your ranking didn't change."

She nodded. "Thanks, Rick."

The boy smiled awkwardly while his friends were silent. "Okay, well that's all I was going to say." He turned back toward the door. "Sorry about, uh, just barging in."

"No worries," Loki said absentmindedly.

"I'll see you guys later," Rick concluded. And he was gone.

Natasha turned back to Loki when the boy had closed the door. Her companion appeared deep in thought and was staring a non-existent object on the ground. Finally, he looked up. "When I was in Fury's office, I noticed several folders on his desk, including Thor's. There was a comment penned next to his name. It said 'Top Candidate for Phase Two.'"

"Do you know what that is?"

Loki shook his head. "I didn't check the other folders to see if they had similar comments."

"Did it say anything else?"

Again, he shook his head. "Just Phase Two." After several seconds of silence, he continued: "Director Fury is much more powerful than I had anticipated. He knows many things that he should not." Again, he paused. "And yet, he seems to have altered the rankings for my apparent benefit. There's something suspicious about this academy. And I have a premonition that it is much darker than anyone presumes."

Natasha narrowed her eyes. Loki's sudden revelation bothered her, but she did not respond. So they sat, staring at the walls, entrapped in silence. Perhaps they didn't speak because there was nothing else to say. Or perhaps they both had the same nagging fear that what Loki said was true.

X

"Peter's cute, I guess," Carol said, twirling her fingers through her blonde hair. Sif was having lunch with three girls from her business class, and although she had been enjoying herself at first, the conversation had gradually grown to cover gossip, just as every conversation seemed to at Marvel. She picked at her salad halfheartedly while her friends talked.

"He's hooking up with Gwen," Raven, a bright redhead, mentioned.

"I thought he was hooking up with Mary Jane…" said Jean, narrowing her eyes in confusion and slight astonishment.

Raven raised her eyebrows. "Wow," she smirked, "I did not peg him for a whore."

"He doesn't seem like a slut, though," Carol refuted.

"He's too good for that," Jean interjected.

Raven shrugged. "Who knows?"

The past couple weeks at Marvel had been a bore for Sif. After her poorly ending encounter with Thor the first week of school, nothing exciting had occurred to make her regain faith in Marvel's promise of a "learning environment unlike any other." The students were the same as in every other school she'd attended—although some were stronger, smarter, and more dedicated, in actuality, they were all the same. Even the topic of conversation were unoriginal—who fucked who, who wants to fuck who—gossip the same in every country among every teenager.

"Sif!" She looked up from her lunch at Jean's mention of her name. "Didn't you hook up with Thor?"

Sif grimaced. "We never hooked up; we just hung out."

"Why not? He's hot," Raven pondered.

"He's a dick."

"So? So is every guy at this school."

"Well, not everyone," Carol piped.

"Really?" Raven questioned. "Like who?"

"Well, that Logan boy—"

"Logan Howlett? Seriously?" Jean scoffed. "Logan Howlett, out of all people."

"He can be nice!"

"To _you_, maybe."

"Isn't he macking that pretty Asian chick?"

"Probably."

"I think he's alright," Raven added.

"_Really_? What do you think, Sif?"

She shrugged. "I don't know him well enough."

"Trust me, he's an even bigger dick than Thor."

"Trust _me_, Thor's pretty hard to surpass."

The girls laughed, and Sif chuckled insincerely along with them. It's not that she didn't like their company, she just _didn't care_. Whatever people thought, it was all the same to her. Sif had never been one to determine her self worth from the admirations of others, and she didn't hold anybody else to the same standard.

"Oh, guess what I heard?" Raven finally asked.

"What?" the girls questioned, but Sif stayed quiet. She wasn't too interested in who Wade Wilson had slept with that day.

"I overheard some of the teachers talking about having a _dance_."

"A dance?" Sif asked. "What are we, middle schoolers?"

"Well, I don't know, not a dance, but a huge party thing sometime in October."  
"It can't be a _huge _party if there's only a hundred people at this school…"

"Okay, fine," Raven obviously didn't appreciate Sif's smartassary. "There'll be a _small _party sometime in October."

"That could be fun," Jean said.

"It's only fun if there's alcohol," Sif added.

"I'm sure Stark can pay someone to look the other way when he drives a truck full of beer onto campus."

"Then we're set," Sif smirked.

"Personally, I'm just excited for the morning after," Raven continued.

"Oh god," Carol thought out loud.

"It can't be _that _bad," claimed Sif.

"Come on, just because its Marvel doesn't mean things aren't going to get weird," Jean asserted.

Sif thought about this. Maybe Jean was right. It _could _get weird with all the hookups she'd heard about and all the relationships that claimed to exist. Just because she wasn't about to do anything stupid didn't mean that the 99 other kids in the academy wouldn't. She was right, then. After all, lock a bunch of horny teenagers on an island with alcohol and unrestricted flows of money and shit was bound happen.

"Guess we'll just have to see what happens," Sif concluded with a smirk. Maybe this was good, she thought. With the boredom she had faced since the start of school, maybe a little dancing and little vodka could cheer her up. As her colleagues continued to talk about God knows what, Sif zoned about, secretly contemplating all the possibilities that night in mid-October could offer her. She tries to hold back her juvenile grin. If Marvel wasn't going to be exciting on its own, she figured, she'd just have to make it exciting. And the dance—party—whatever the hell it was the best place to do it.

X

**Heyyyy followers and everybody else… I am very, very sorry for a taking a 7-month break from posting but I swear I will finish this story even if it takes the rest of my life! I've had a lot going on (AKA junior year is a bitch) and I'll try to post more often this summer. Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed and everyone who took the time to read this weird little story that floats around in my mind **** I hope you like the next installment so please comment and don't get too mad at me because I swear I'll keep writing. Thanks so much!**


	9. Chapter 9

Three days after the official date of the Marvel Academy Fall Formal had been announced by Headmaster Fury, Christine Everhart was still in peril of going alone. Of course, she fell into this predicament by choice. She had casually turned down Justin Hammer's feeble attempts at asking to the dance because she had a bigger goal in mind—this goal being, of course, the same dark-haired gentleman she'd set her sights on her first day at the Academy. As far as she knew, Tony Stark hadn't asked anyone and there was no one particular in his mind. The ginger she'd heard rumors must have been just that—a rumor. After all, it had already been _three days_. If Tony wanted someone, he would have asked her the day the Formal was announced.

Christine had decided that that Saturday would be the day. She wouldn't ask Tony directly—_oh God, no_—but she had planned a series of hints that would be proposed to the boy over the course of the day by way of several of her friends and several of his companions. Her plan was foolproof; by the end of the night, she figured, he would come to the realization that she was his best datable option at the school. And, indeed, she was. Her looks, her wealth, her perfected image of the damsel in distress—Christine smirked to herself. What wasn't to like?

The girl was standing in the cafeteria line at 9 o'clock that Saturday morning, carefully picking a flavored Frappuccino from the line of varied drinks coffee-based beverages provided for the students. She doubted that Tony was awake yet; from what she'd heard, he didn't usually leave his dorm room until 10 on the weekends. Thus, she had recruited Logan Howlett to casually mention to Tony that she was still looking for a date once he left his room. Even though Logan wasn't the _most _trustworthy of Tony's friends she could rely on, he was one of his closest, and thus would have the most influence on his decision. Also, she had promised to ensure that Logan's Playboy subscription bypass Marvel's mailing firewall next month. The promise of a couple naked girls should be enough to convince him to be on her side.

Thus, Christine was thoughtfully browsing the drink line when she heard a familiar and unexpected voice behind her: "Hey Christine!"

Abruptly, she turned around. "Tony!" she smiled to hide the confusion and anxiety on her face.

"Do you have time to talk right now?" He rocked back and forth in his Sperrys.

"Right now?" Oh god, she wasn't ready! She was only wearing mascara and eyeliner—she'd decided not to waste the quality shadow she'd designated for that evening. And—oh _fuck_—she was wearing _leggings_. But Tony had already seen her, and it was too late for a second first impression. And, if she put off the encounter, maybe he'd assume that she didn't want to talk to him at all. "Sure."

"Awesome." He was infinitely more relaxed than she was. "Are you friends with Pepper?"

"Pepper?" No, no, no, this wasn't where this conversation was supposed to go. "Potts?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I am," she lied.

"Do you know if she's going to the Formal with anyone?"

Well, this was strange. Several questions immediately buzzed through Christine's mind. One: who the hell was Pepper Potts? Yes, Christine had heard of her and seen her around campus, but she was _no one_. She wasn't part of Tony's posse, nor could she meet the standards of wealth or identity that came with it. But—fuck—she remembered, Pepper was a ginger. Two: why the hell was Tony asking her about Pepper's situation? In all the time that she had known him and all the things she'd heard about him, never was there an instance where Tony didn't simply pursue the things he wanted. And, thus, question three presented itself: what made Pepper Potts so damn special?

"I think she is," Christine lied again.

"Really?" Tony's brows furrowed. "Who with?"

A good lie was necessary. She needed a name. She needed someone popular and physically imposing so Tony wouldn't ask him too many questions. That narrowed the applicant pool down to the Olympians. Out of these, she needed someone single, someone flirty, someone—"Thor Odinson, I think."

"Oh, that's interesting." Christine recognized that his blasé response was shadowing a greater distaste. He felt threatened, undermined—but, if she played her cards right, this could be better than any other plan she could concoct.

"Oh, were you planning on asking her?" she conjured her most innocent smile as she spoke.

Suddenly, the vulnerability was gone from Tony's face. "No," he chuckled. "Bruce was planning on asking her roommate, and Amadeus was planning on asking Pepper so she wouldn't feel awkward. You know, no friend wants to be the third wheel."

Half of her wanted to believe him, but the other half knew Tony was just protecting himself. Sure, his comeback was smooth, but _Amadeus Cho_? That was a bigger joke than Thor Odinson.

"Yeah, I get it," she smiled, hiding her mild annoyance. Now was the moment. She began, "Were you planning on asking anyone? 'Cause I know a bunch of single girls that would _love _to go with you."

Again, he chuckled. "I'm sure they would," he said, looking directly at her, so directly, in fact, that Christine had to uncomfortably break eye contact. What was he implying? "But, I'm not asking anyone."

"Really?" Her heart dropped. "Why not?"

"Oh, come on, you know me, Christine. Commitment's not one of my many virtues. If I don't go with anyone, it won't matter who I leave with." For a second, he paused as a mischievous smile crept across his face. "You know, I like that. _If I don't go with anyone, it won't matter who I leave with_—it's catchy, right? I think I'll use that."

Was he fucking kidding her? She'd gone through the trouble of flirting with him just so he could come up with his new whorish catchphrase?

Without waiting for her approval or disgust, Tony smirked his signature grin and said, "You're my muse, Christine, thanks!" Again, without waiting for a response, he turned around and began heading for the cafeteria exit. "Oh, and I hope you find a date! I heard Justin's interested!"

"Yeah," she yelled after him as he disappeared through the opened glass doors. Angrily, she grabbed a random coffee off the shelf and started on her way to the exit near the girls' dormitory, her flats clattering the way down the marble tiled floor. For three days, she had waited and planned and imagined only to be blatantly rejected by a boy she thought would have insisted on being her date. But, at least, she thought, Pepper Potts wouldn't be his date either. At least she wouldn't be the only one dethroned by the incident.

X

_Napoleon; Napoleon: The Last Cavalier; The Rise of Napoleon Bonaparte_.Thor was inattentively scanning the titles of the books the Western Civilization section of the Marvel library. He was distracted that Saturday: he had an international wrestling tournament in Lisbon the next weekend, but that didn't keep his friends from winding him up over the Fall Formal. Yes, the dance was in two weeks, but almost everyone he knew had already secured a significant other or was in the process of searching for one. Lester had successfully asked a Greek girl named Elektra from his criminology class, and Steve was in the process of asking Peggy, something he was _still _terrified to do. Steve and Peggy had hung out exclusively the entire year; it wasn't as if he had anything to fear.

Even though he wasn't set on asking anyone in particular, Thor forcibly felt the peer pressure. He had a few female friends, but no one in whom he was interested. But, a date was necessary—he wasn't going to be on the only one of his friends to show up to the formal alone.

_Napoleon Against Russia; Napoleon's Buttons_. Had he looked through these books already?

"_The Last Cavalier_ is the best one if you're looking for a history of the Napoleonic Era," a small voice at Thor's side piped.

Surprised, he turned around to see a small brunette standing near the Western Civ shelf. "And why is that?"

"Well…" The girl took the book off the shelf. "The sections are classified by both date and historical significance, so you get a strong overview of the era's generalities, while still retaining the specifics." Thor looked down at the girl as she spoke, but she failed to make eye contact. "And it gives you a lot of knowledge about Napoleon's personal life…" As if suddenly realizing that she was ranting, the girl caught herself: "I mean, if that's what you need." She finally looked up at him.

"Yeah." Thor couldn't keep himself from staring at her. "That was exactly what I needed."

The girl smirked and broke eye contact again. She was beautiful—how had Thor not seen her before? For once in his life, he was lost for words.

"Sorry, I didn't want to distract you—" The girl pushed a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and turned to leave.

"No!" The interruption was more urgent than Thor had intended. Now he had to catch himself: "You were not distracting me."

"Oh…"

"Are you… uh…" Thor couldn't just let her walk away. "Are you very informed about historical literature?" _Are you very informed about historical literature? _Well, that could definitely qualify as pick-up line of the year.

But, the girl didn't skip a beat. "Not generally, but I had to do some extensive research on the Napoleonic Era for a class last summer—"

"What sort of class?"

"Oh, um… It was just a course for college credit at Cambridge."

"Cambridge?" _Fuck_. How smart _was_ this girl? "That sounds like an incredible opportunity."

"Yeah, it was. It was a lot of fun," she smiled softly.

"I am glad," Thor grinned. He was dumbstruck. Any ability to maintain a regular conversation had left his body, and all he could do was stand there, smiling at the girl like an idiot. Yes, that was really all he wanted to do, but he could feel himself looking more and more like a fool every second that he stood there in silence.

Finally, the girl broke eye contact and looked at the ground. "Well, I have to, uh… go. Good luck with your… research." She handed him the book.

"Thanks," he smiled again. The girl turned around and slowly began to walk toward the center of the library. Thor realized that she had a shoulder bag strapped around her arm and was carrying three books, on one of which he caught the words "nuclear medicine." But, even in his moment of relapse, he remembered a crucial detail. "Oh, wait!" The girl turned back around. "What is your name?"

"Jane."

"Good to meet you, Jane."

She smirked. "You too, Thor."

"You know my name?" He was genuinely surprised.

"Doesn't everyone?"

Thor was too stunned to say anything before the girl walked out of the corridor and disappeared. But he didn't care. He had felt something, something he had never felt before. Could it be, he thought, _love at first sight? _No, he chuckled to himself and shook his head—he didn't believe in that. But, he thought again, could it be? The emotion was unlike any other. Suddenly, all his worries and inhibitions just fell away. Still smirking, Thor walked out of the library, eager to tell Steve about the mysterious girl he had just encountered. He was in such a dazed mood that only later would he remember that he had forgotten to check the book Jane had recommended.

X

"So, how's your day been so far?" Steve asked casually as he and Peggy walked side-by-side outside the student cafeteria.

"Oh, pretty boring mostly," she said, a stack of textbooks lined up in her arms. "I had to do a lot of research for that research project Coulson assigned."

"Yeah, that was crazy. Who knew a fifteen-page paper need that much information?" Steve stopped himself—of course a fifteen-page paper needed a lot of information. He changed the subject before he could embarrass himself further: "What country did you research?"

"England during the Elizabethan Era. And you?"

"Uh… Nazi Germany."

"Oh, that's really interesting! What made you choose that?"

"I don't know," Steve shrugged. "I guess I've always liked studying World War II."

The couple had reached the dorms. Peggy, Steve knew, had to complete a project for her psychology class with a couple classmates and would likely not be free for the rest of the day. This was, then, his only chance. Just as he was about to begin the Formal-invitation speech he had planned, Peggy spoke instead:

"So, I have to work on the project now…" her voice trailed off.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," Steve said, flustered and thrown off.

"I guess I'll see you later, then," she smiled.

"Yeah, yeah…" Dammit, he thought, what about his speech? "Wait!" he managed, just as Peggy was turning away. He took off the military-style backpack slung over his shoulder and rummaged through it. When he finally found the item he was looking for, the speech he had planned had completely vanished from his mind. "Flower," Steve said, holding the slightly damaged daisy he had picked from school gardens. "I mean, um, this is a flower." Oh god, he must have sounded like a complete idiot. He shook his head, "Sorry, sorry, I don't know what I'm saying…"

"It's okay," Peggy put her hand on his. "You're fine."

Steve took a deep breath. "Okay, um, so, this is a daisy. I picked it for you—sorry, that sounds bad, too!"

"You're _fine_."

"Just um… I got you a daisy, doyouwanttogototheFormalwithme?"

"Of course!" the girl beamed. "Of course I do, Steve!"

He awkwardly handed her the flower. "Sorry it looks bad—it looked better this morning, and it must have gotten like this in my bag—"

"It's beautiful, Steve! I love it." Peggy took the flower and spread her arms to hug him. Still trying to be casual, Steve hugged her back, relieved that she hadn't straight out rejected him, or worse yet, said she'd think about it. In fact, he was surprised she had said anything at all after his faulty delivery.

Once out of the embrace, Peggy held both of Steve's hands. "I'm really happy you asked me."

"Well, I'm really happy you said yes because I would feel really awkward if you hadn't…"

"Of course I would have said yes, Steve! Who could say no to you?"

"Like, a lot of people, probably…"

"You're too hard on yourself," she smiled again. Out of nowhere, Peggy leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Steve could feel himself getting red. When she pulled back, she continued: "I'd really love to stay and keep talking, but I actually have to work on that project now…"

"Yeah, yeah, of course! Go psychologize, or something like that…"

Peggy chuckled. "We should have dinner tonight. I heard they're serving fondue."

"Yeah, definitely! I, uh, I love fondue!" What in the world was fondue? "I'll meet you at 7."

"Fantastic," she grinned. She let go of his hands, but still held the daisy. "Don't get in too much trouble by yourself."

"I'll try not to."

Steve stood watching as Peggy walked into the dormitory entrance. He waved at her when she turned around whilst entering through the doorway and stood there for a couple seconds after she disappeared inside. What made a girl like that like a guy like him, he thought? But, he tried not to think about it. It didn't matter, now that she had said yes. He, Steve Rogers, Mr. Clean-Cut and awkward-moment-inducer extraordinaire, was going to Marvel's Fall Formal with the beautiful, amazing, and ridiculously talented Peggy Carter.

He basked in his happiness as he made his way to his own dorm to work on his Government research paper and to make sure Thor wasn't ready to do anything stupid, like try to beat up his younger brother again. Even though Steve didn't think that punching him in the face was the best way to teach Loki a lesson, he could see where Thor was coming from. Loki needed to realize that he couldn't keep on doing whatever he wanted while immersed in the greatest opportunity of his life.

Still beaming, Steve finally arrived in his dorm room. Right when he entered the room, a familiar sound rang in his ears. "Steve, you must be enlightened by what I discovered today!" Thor's dominating voice resonated through the dorm room.

"I asked Peggy to Formal."

"But, Steve, you must listen!"

"And she said yes." Steve plopped his backpack on his bed.

"Well, of course, I possessed no doubt that she would." At that second, it became clear on Thor's face that he realized he should be happy for his friend instead of bantering about his own realization. "Did you present her with the flower?"

"Yeah, I did. It was a little battered up, but she took it anyway."

"Was she quite pleased?"

"Yeah—at least, I thought so. She even kissed me."

"On the lips."

"Oh no, of course not!" he chuckled. "On the cheek."

Thor put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "You have done well, my friend."

He smiled. "Thank you." He allowed himself a few seconds to savor the glory of his accomplished pursuit, but he knew that there was something else on Thor's mind. "Now, what were you going to enlighten me with?"

Thor's arms suddenly flew up in exaggerated gesticulations. "I was introduced today to the most amazing female!"

Steve scrunched his eyebrows. "You met a girl?"

"Yes, _I met a girl_, but she was far more intelligent and far more beautiful than any other than any than I have previously encountered."

"Where did you, ah, encounter her?"

"I was searching for literature at the library when _ah_," he dramatically opened his clutched fist, "there was she."

"How long did you talk to her for?"

"Several minutes."

"_Several minutes?_"

"They were the most fantastic several minutes of my entire life, Steve."

"Okay, then, um…" He had never seen Thor show this much emotion before, especially not for a girl. After all, he did have a habit for regarding romance in a cynical and predominantly physical way. "Did you at least ask her name or is this a Cinderella story?"

"A Cinderella story? I don't understand—"

"Did you at least ask her name?"

"Yes," he grinned widely. "Jane."

"Jane? Just Jane?"

"Well, I presume she possesses a family name."

"I don't think I know any—wait. Jane Foster?"

"I do not kn—"

"Short, brown hair, kind of quiet?"

"Yes! And she possess the most beautiful light brown eyes… Have you knowledge of her, Steve?"

"Yeah, some. She's friends with Peggy—"

"You should inform Peggy that I am planning on becoming her friend."

"Um, okay, I'll let her know at dinner?"

Thor ignored the question-statement. "Is Jane presumed to be in a relationship?"

"She, uh, she may be?"

"'She may be?' Please explain."

"She's very close with Bruce Banner—"

"Banner? I am not familiar with this _Banner_."

"He's Tony Stark's roommate."

"Oh yes, scrawny nerd-boy, correct?"

"Yeah, scrawny nerd-boy, I guess."

"So Jane is acquainted with Banner, but they are not dating, correct?"

"I'm not sure they're dating, but Peggy told he's planning on asking her to the Fall Formal."

Thor's arms dropped to his sides, and the extravagant grin fell from his face. "Oh," was all he could say.

Oh, god, no, he couldn't let his friend lose faith like that. "But, but that doesn't mean anything! Maybe they're just going at friends. You know, people do that! Like Lester and Elektra, they're going at friends…" Steve offered.

Slowly, Thor's frown began to pick up. "Perhaps you are correct, my friend. These dates are non-defining."

"Yeah, exactly! Just because they're close friends, does not mean there's anything going on."

Finally, his smirk remerged to its original degree. Thor put his hand on Steve's shoulder again. "You are a good friend, Steve."

"No problem, man. I'm just, you know, I'm looking out for you."

With that, Thor returned to his desk, where a stack of papers and textbooks was piled up. Although he was not as enthusiastic as he was before, he hadn't lost faith in the girl he had known for several minutes. "You are correct about another factor, my friend."

"What's that?"

"Just because Jane may enter the dance with Banner does not mean she will remain with him the entire night."

"Yeah, exactly, who knows what'll happen in the moment."

Thor chuckled. "The Formal will be quite interesting. But even more interesting will be the next morning."

As Thor fell back into his schoolwork, Steve suddenly found himself thinking about the proposition. Unexpectedly, a whole new dilemma entered his mind. What if Peggy left him during the Formal? What would he do then? Hopefully, he thought, this would not be a problem—Peggy was far too caring and nice a girl to leave him by himself. But, what of the others? Would the night become, like Thor thought, a fiasco to see who slept over where? He honestly hoped not. School and sport were hard enough; he didn't want the sleeping habits of his friends to cause him greater worry.

But, despite any inhibitions, Steve couldn't help but feel excited. Sure, something was bound to go wrong, but at least he would have Peggy, and that was all that mattered. Whatever happened, he promised himself, he wouldn't get caught up in any of the events that would transpire from the dance. Little did he know how easily he would break that promise.

X

**Thanks for all the reviews and basically anyone who keeps reading this ridiculous thing! I've been trying to write as much as possible as quickly as possible, so I hope everyone likes the new installment!**


	10. Chapter 10

"Don't worry, you look amazing!" Jane encouraged as Pepper questioningly stared at her reflection in the mirror. The strapless, dark blue party dress she had ordered from her local designer in New York had looked good in its plastic wrapping, but something about it seemed off after she donned it for the first time. It wasn't the cut or the stitching—no, the design itself was impeccable—but something about the intentionality of the dress. It seemed fit for a gala or an art exhibition, not for the Fall Formal of the Marvel Academy for Gifted Youth.

"It's too much," Pepper said, her mouth twisting in disappointment.

"No, no, it's great! You're gonna amaze _everyone!_"

_Everyone_, was that right? Even _Tony Stark_, she couldn't help but wonder? Before Director Fury's announcement of the dance, she and Tony had talked or had breakfast almost every day. But the weekend after the announcement, their conversations just stopped. Pepper would no longer spot Tony at the usual locations he used to escape his posse, but would instead see him interacting with them nonstop. Whatever false shred of a relationship she thought they shared had suddenly vanished. Tony Stark was over her, and that was that.

"And you're going to have so much fun!"

Pepper finally smirked. As much as she didn't show it, she wholeheartedly depended on Jane's reassurances over the dance. Any other time, she would have been fine—Pepper had enough self-confidence and self-control to maintain her pride in times of crisis—but Tony's attitude this time was too obnoxious to ignore. Not only had stopped speaking to her, he had conjured up an idiotic slogan to go with newly realized singularity: If I don't go with anyone, it won't matter who I leave with. Honestly, though, Pepper thought, _who the fuck said that? _But, if he didn't care, neither would she. Tony could screw whoever he wanted that night and she wouldn't give a fuck because a) they were never together, and b) he was an asshole free to make his own irresponsible choices. It was time to forget. In fact, she would forget about him for the entire night, starting… now:

"Not as much fun as you," the ginger asserted, keen to change the subject. "You're gonna have a great time with Bruce!" After several of days of pressure on her part, Bruce Banner had finally gotten the courage to ask Jane to the Formal. The boy was a little too scrawny and a little too nerdy for her taste, but he and Jane were two of a kind.

Jane smiled. "I hope so. I just don't want it to be awkward."

"It's only awkward if you make it awkward." Pepper put her hands on Jane's bare shoulders. "So don't make it awkward!"

"I'll try not to!" Jane smoothed the creases on her strapless lavender dress. "It's just too bad we couldn't double date."

Pepper had disclosed to Jane that no one was interested in asking her to the Formal, but, in fact, she had gone out of her way to make sure she wasn't. There wasn't anyone at Marvel she was comfortable enough with to dance with for an entire evening, and she wasn't planning to stick around a guy she could care less about. She'd heard a rumor that a weird hippie from her business class—Aldrich Something—wanted to ask her, but she shut him down before he could even start.

"No, it's fine! We'll have all the fun we need just the same," Pepper smiled. After all, she didn't need a date to enjoy herself. She knew plenty of people going by themselves, and they were some of the liveliest people she'd ever met. The night was destined to be a blast, no doubt, and she'd made herself a promise to have a good time.

In a quick realization, Pepper glanced around the dorm room for the clock. 7:48. The Formal was officially beginning at 8 o'clock, but she'd heard rumors that there were "pre-parties" starting hours before then. "When's Bruce picking you up again?"

Just as she said it, the girls heard a knock on their door. Pepper smirked, "Speak of the devil."

Jane giggled giddily and went to the door. Bruce was outside, wearing a black suit and holding a single rose. His hair was still scruffy and his tie was improperly tied, but he at least he looked prepared. For a nerd, Pepper had to admit, he did clean up nice.

"You look really nice, Jane," he said quietly, his face turning a light shade of tomato.

"Thanks," she smiled softly, accepting the rose. "So do you." They stared at each other for a couple seconds in silence. Pepper looked around the room for a distraction, but found none. Jane, finally recognizing her roommate's awkwardness, asked, "Do you want to come in?

"Oh, yeah, sure." The boy smiled and walked in through the open doorway. "Hi Pepper," the boy said upon entering the room. Jane searched the dorm for a place to store the rose. "You look great."

"You too, Bruce," Pepper smirked. Jane must have found the only gentleman at Marvel.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around the room. "Is your date, uh, on his way?"

Pepper scrunched her eyebrows together. "I don't have a date."

"Really?" The boy looked genuinely surprised. "Oh, sorry…" His voice trailed off, and his eyes narrowed as if he were considering something. "I guess I just assumed…"

"There!" Jane had converted an empty water bottle supported by textbooks into a vase. "Are we ready?"

"Yeah, let's go!" Pepper was eager to leave the dorm room obviously not large enough for three people. She shut the door behind the happy couple, who had left the room side-by-side, but still without making much physical contact. The group began walking toward the gymnasium, which had been casually redecorated on a budget of $10,000 for the night. Along the way, Pepper asked, "So, I haven't talked to you in a while, Bruce. How've your classes been?"

"Good. Tough, but good."

"Great. And everything else?"

"It's been a ride, but I've handled it. Tony keeps me afloat."

And there was Tony again, showing up in a conversation where he didn't belong. "How's he doing, by the way?" Pepper asked, her words obviously stinging with resentment.

"He's fine, you know, getting drunk…"

"This early?"

"He threw a pre-party." Of course he did. "We'll probably see him there… eventually."

The group finally neared the gymnasium. Even with the sound-proof walls and earthquake-proof construction of the building, they could hear the Skrillex pounding from inside.

"How formal _is _this Formal?" Pepper mentioned absent-mindedly. The electronic screeches and ridiculous bass drops had already managed to distract her. Jane and Bruce said something to each other, but she couldn't hear. The pounding became louder and louder as they reached the entrance. Finally, they stopped right before the door, as if to savor the temporary calm before the storm.

"Well, here goes nothing," Pepper smirked at her friends. The music was already too loud for her to hear if either of them responded, but she didn't care. She liked the pounding, the energy, and aura of carelessness that crept from the building. She had put in too much effort and experienced too much stress that year, but, for that moment, she stopped caring. She would be reckless, she would be stupid, she would let go. It was her first night out in three months, and she would take advantage of it, no matter what.

They walked into the dark gymnasium.

X

"Formal" was a very deceiving word. The second Clint had walked into the gymnasium, his head was pummeled with the obnoxious screeching he had heard from his classmates' iPhones and had grown to detest. Even though the large majority of the girls were wearing nice dresses and most of the boys were wearing suits, the proposed formality didn't keep the students from acting like they were at a club. On the main dance floor, half the kids were grinding, more than half were drinking inconspicuously, and Clint had spotted a few couples making out _while _dancing—and it was only 10 o'clock.

Even though the gym was huge and there only 100 students at Marvel, the building was packed, due in part to the ridiculous amount of money the school had spent on redesigning it for the weekend. $20,000 was the estimate Clint had heard, and its effect was evident. Instead of the wood flooring usually present on the gymnasium floor, faux marble tiling covered the ground. In place of the exercise equipment in the west corner and the Combat class matting on the south side, a labyrinth of ramps, obstacles, and secret hiding locations that reminded Clint of a laser tag arena had been constructed on the floor. He had seen students dancing and drinking on every level of the maze and had himself discovered some of the treasures hidden within the barricades—most prominently a fuse ball table and a professional DJ mixer controller. The whole building was an obstacle course, and there was absolutely no adult supervision. Although the idea that he was at a school dance—which it could hardly be described as, considering the accommodations and lack of the _actual_ _dancing_—Clint had to admit, the construction was _pretty fucking legit_.

Even though the sound system was prepared to blast music evenly throughout the floor, but there was an obvious center to the mayhem. The rich kids, the girls spilling vodka on their Versace dresses and the boys sweating through their Armani shirts, populated this central area in the middle of the gym. The one-percent had formed their own mini-party, allowing the less popular people float around them and the loners and/or nymphos to migrate into the labyrinth.

To avoid the chaos, Clint had followed Loki and Natasha deep within the edifices to the most quiet and secure location they could find. Sif had joined them originally, but later ran off to drink and to find some of her less antisocial friends. By 9 o'clock, they had settled on top of a glow-in-the-dark ping-pong table and watched as their normally sober classmates abandoned their inhibitions.

"Unbelievable," Natasha said quietly, observing two boys make complete fools of themselves in a self-generated dance off. The group of rich kids cheered and whooped around them, most in hysterics over their blatantly failed attempts at breakdancing.

"_YOLO_." The word seemed unnatural coming from Loki, even with the piercing sarcasm in his voice.

"Some people never learn," the girl pondered out loud.

Even though Clint often had very little to say, he enjoyed the company of his roommate and the girl he often found studying in his dorm room. He was in their mindset; all three had a distaste for authority, overindulgence, and certain family members. For Loki, it was Thor; for Clint, it was his brother; for Natasha, he assumed it was her entire family because she never spoke about any of them.

The music continued to blare so the group didn't notice the clattering of heels coming toward them. Clint only noticed the obviously drunk couple sauntering by when they stopped before the three outcasts and began to speak.

"Hey! What are you guys doing here all alone?" the girl asked. Through the dim lighting, Clint recognized her hair as a muted shade of red.

"Hanging out," Loki replied with enough bite in his voice to show that he didn't appreciate the interruption while still showing enough decency to respond.

But the girl didn't seem to hear the sarcasm. "You guys should go downstairs. It's _so much fun!_" she giggled. Clint could smell the sour stench of alcohol coming from her mouth.

"No, thanks," Natasha stated firmly.

"_Come onnnn! _Tony Stark's only made out with, like, two girls," she laughed. "He's _still _looking for someone to leave with."

"Thank you, but—" Loki began, but he was interrupted:

"Is that right?" Natasha showed a sudden interest in the conversation.

"Yeahh! He's still on the look out for a pretty little whore to fuck." The guy behind her hugged her around the waist and she laughed again. "I mean," she continued after her chuckling intermission, "if you'd like that."

"I think I would," Natasha suddenly smirked. "I think I'll go downstairs." She picked up her tiny black handbag and jumped off the ping-pong table.

"Wait, are you serious?" Loki looked at his friend in disgust.

"Yeah." Clint couldn't tell if her enthusiasm was forced or not. "You know, _YOLO_."

"That's the spirit!" the mysterious redhead squealed.

"I'll catch up with you guys later," Natasha said, putting on her black flats and shuffling away. Both Clint and Loki were in too much shock to say anything before she left.

"Looks like you struck out, boys," the girl said, smiling while the Russian ran down the labyrinth. "Should've been on that quicker," she concluded before grabbing the hand of her companion and jogging to a secluded corridor, leaving Clint and Loki alone.

When the urgency of the situation finally wore off, Loki said, "What the hell just happened?"

"She's not really into Stark, is she?" Clint wondered out loud, Tony's embarrassing loss to her during Combat still prominent in his memory.

"Oh god, no. I don't presume she could be 'into' anyone." He paused briefly. "Far too damaged for that."

Clint narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You are her friend; you must know. Her ingrained inability to portray emotion."

The blonde thought about this. Yes, he had noticed her absolute monotony, her indiscretion, the false smile she maintain in situations where she was supposed to care. But, he wouldn't call it _ingrained_. Unless Loki was far more knowledgeable about her prior life than he was, Natasha's actions were her own, determined by her self-reliance and independent of immense external factors.

"I think self-imposed is a better word than ingrained."

"You _do_ realize she cannot feel love?" Loki looked pointedly at Clint. "Love is an innate function. One must be programmed to not experience it."

"She must love her family."

"She has no family. She was raised an orphan."

"Really?"

"Well, of course. Why else does she avoid the subject?"

This was true, Clint had to admit, and it would explain many things. He himself often refrained from talking about his origins, about the orphanage and the parents he never knew, about the brother who had turned toward a life of crime while he stayed in the circus where he was raised. He had never heard Natasha speak about her private life except for a few snippets here and there, a casual mention of a man named Ivan or a general portrayal of her unexplained skills during Combat practice. But if she were just as alone as he was, then it would all make sense. Even if she hadn't told him directly, Loki had been smart enough—smarter than Clint, at least—to realize her past. Perhaps Clint had been unwilling to think that anyone shared his background, yet still managed to perform to the standards mandated by the Academy.

"You know her better than I do," the blonde finally acknowledged.

"Not enough to understand this," Loki bowed his head to the central dance area beneath them. In the middle of the floor, both boys recognized Natasha's red hair and black dress flashing from the colored strobe lights. The not-as-popular floaters on the outside of the dance circle had gladly paved her way to the center, likely because of fear of what she would do if they didn't and of interest in what she wanted with the rich kids. The entire dance floor, no matter how drunk, watched as Natasha made her way to the company of the grandmaster. The only person to not see her approach was the mark himself, the dark haired boy in the gray suit who was—Clint almost chuckled at his ridiculousness—wearing sunglasses indoors.

Clint could see that Tony Stark was too hammered to recognize Natasha as a potential threat at that moment. But, even despite that, Clint acknowledged the slight confusion on the boy's face as Natasha began to dance in front of him. The next few minutes of dancing—though it may have been an hour, considering Clint's impeded state—were a blur: he was already overwhelmed watching his friend grind _Tony fucking Stark_ when he saw her lips slap against his and stay there.

"Is she making out…?" his voice trailed off as he waited for affirmation of what he was seeing from his friend.

"I believe she is…" Loki was just as confused.

The boys continued to stare in disbelief for what seemed like forever—Clint's perception of time by this point was completely skewed—until Natasha finally grabbed Tony's hand. As everyone on the floor watched, Natasha pulled the boy through the crowd and toward the exit closest to the dormitories. Within a few split seconds, the couple disappeared through the door and was gone.

"What." Loki didn't have the capacity to convert the statement into a question, and Clint didn't have the capacity for a response. Slowly, the dance floor returned to its normal state, though lacking the presence of its central organ. Clint and Loki sat in silence, observing the restabilization of the system, before they could say another word.

"Is she fucking Tony Stark right now?" Clint finally put out the question neither wanted to address.

"We can presume, I suppose..." Loki says, eyes narrowing.

"But… why?"

His friend had no direct response. "She is a girl of complex and unexplainable convictions—"

"Hey," a familiar voice interrupted from Clint's left.

"_Nat?_" Loki exclaimed.

"Yeah?" There was Natasha, fully clothed and alone.

"How, how did you get in?" Clint managed.

"Back door," she explained casually.

"And, uh, where exactly is your new boyfriend?" Loki questioned.

She smirked sarcastically. "Right where he needs to be." She looked around the gymnasium. "I see the music hasn't improved."

And that would be all she would tell them right then, Clint knew. She would not tell them about whatever had occurred, and Loki understood this. Clint listened halfheartedly while the two discussed some irrelevant topics. Everyone in the building except him seemed to have moved on from the incident, but he couldn't just forget it. He looked back down on the dance floor. Tony Stark was gone, but Natasha Romanoff was here. So, where the hell was Tony? And, more importantly, _what the hell _had just happened?

X

By 11 that night, the party was still in full swing. About a quarter of the students had retreated to their dorms to do who knows what, but those who remained were not prepared to leave the dance anytime soon. Thor was one of these people. In three hours, he had consumed five beers and half a bottle of tequila and was still on his feet. The main reason for his longevity was not his high capacity for alcohol, but rather Steve's insistent banters to take breaks in between in each bottle. Without his roommate, Thor would have probably been passed out within the first thirty minutes.

Even though he had danced with more than enough girls, he wasn't planning on taking anyone back to his dorm. Thor knew he wasn't fit for the commitment that often accompanied sex—after all, none of his relationships had ever been more than casual. The only person he'd ever even considered having a real romance with was Jane, and he'd known for less than two weeks and spoken to for less than five minutes. Even in his semi-drunken state, Thor had scoped the dance floor for her all night, but she was not to be seen. He wasn't sure if she or Banner had even shown up to the dance. This worried him.

"Hey!" Thor turned to see Steve at his side. "Maybe you should take a break," the American said, motioning to the Patron bottle in his hand and the girl grinding in front of him.

"Fine." The brunette was getting boring anyway. Thor walked off the center of the floor, leaving the girl with no explanation, and followed Steve to the edge of the gymnasium where the first ramp to the labyrinth began. "Where's Peggy?" Thor asked upon reaching the wall.

"She went outside with Carol to get some air."

"You allowed her leave you? Oh," Thor allowed a look of concern to creep over his face, "you understand what that means, don't you?"

"Wh-what? Should, should I have gone with her?" Steve stammered.

The ragged blonde smirked widely and patted his friend's shoulder. "I'm just fooling with you, my friend." Steve's expression quickly changed to one of relief. "It only means she cannot handle her alcohol."

"We're not drinking."

"Really? And why not?"

His roommate shrugged. "We just don't find it necessary to have a good time."

"Suit yourself," Thor said, casually taking a chug of his tequila. "Have you spotted Jane yet?" he asked upon finishing the bottle.

"Are you serious?"

He scrunched his eyebrows. "What?"

"You're, you're hammered!"

"And?"

"And, and you've grinded half the school!"

"_And?_"

"And what are you planning to do if you see Jane? Pretend you're sober and have a nice conversation?"

"Well, why not?"

"How much have you had to _drink?_"

"_You _have clearly not had enough," Thor said, handing Steve the bottle.

"Dude, the bottle's empty!" Thor looked at it inquisitively. Indeed it was. When did that happen? "Maybe you should just go home."

"Maybe you should secure your girlfriend." The assertion seemed to bite at Steve. "The night is still young! There's still plenty to do!"

"Whatever, just do whatever you want. Just don't make a complete fool of yourself." Steve turned toward the exit. "And if you find Jane, _please _don't make her uncomfortable."

Thor watched as the young man walked away. Why was he so concerned? He was still standing, so he couldn't be _that _drunk, and what was his problem with Jane? He knew how to handle himself, even with a few drinks. All Steve was doing was getting his hopes down. He obviously had a chance, so why shouldn't he go for it?

After trying to chug the Patron, Thor realized again that the bottle was empty. He set it down near the wall and began walking toward the floor. Just as he was about to set out and dance again, he happened to look up at the higher levels of the maze. There, distinctly illuminated by strobe lights, was Jane. And right next to her, leaning back on a wall, was Bruce Banner. Thor watched for a couple seconds while he said something and Jane laughed. Thor felt all hope vanish from his body. So, they were together. The music suddenly muted out in his ears. There was his perfect girl—and in his drunken state, he had no inhibitions about saying that she was the love of his life—with someone else, someone she obviously loved. The alcohol running through his blood could not help distinguish between melodrama and realism at that moment. Thor felt all hopes for a future disappear.

Pathetically, he walked out on the dance floor. He was numb; he couldn't feel if his body was moving or not. He let the music and the alcohol take over his body the point where he was now longer in control. Had he not binged to such a degree, maybe he would have been more conscious about his decisions, but he chose not to think about it. Thor was completely incognizant of what he was doing until he felt a pair of lips against his own, but even then, he could hardly care. In a rush of adrenaline and hormones, he suddenly recognized on how many levels he had failed, with Jane, with Loki, with all the things he had going for him. At least the tongue in his mouth could make him forget.

X

About half the students were still in the gymnasium at midnight when Bruce and Jane decided to leave. When they arrived at the party, they immediately realized that the music was loud, the dancing was too dirty, and the entire atmosphere was far out of their comfort zones. Pepper had run off almost right at her arrival, and the two had not seen her since. The couple had traversed the labyrinth, had found a place that suited them, and had, for almost four hours, tried to talk over the obnoxious music. Although they could have retreated back to one of their dorms, but individuals feared what could be walking into. After all, Bruce had seen Tony leave with an unidentified girl.

Finally, after some riveting discussions of science and life ambitions, the two were too tired to stay in the gymnasium. They walked through the familiar courtyard in silence—not in the awkward silence that implied nothing to say, but in the good kind of silence that implied that everything necessary had already been said. Eventually, they reached the girls' dorms. Bruce knew he had to instigate something.

"Thanks for, uh, going with me," he said, instinctively scratching the back of head and avoiding eye contact.

"I had a great time," Jane grinned. "I'm really glad we went together."

He could have said more, but he could tell that she already knew everything he wanted to say. Instead, he smiled awkwardly. In response, Jane leaned in for a hug. As they embraced, Bruce could feel nothing more than the perfection of the moment.

"Bye," Jane said quietly after they separated.

"Bye," Bruce held up his hand as the brunette walked into the building and disappeared with a beautiful smile on her face.

Bruce smirked to himself and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hand-me-down suit as he walked back to his dorm. His amazing impression of the night even droned out the fear that he might walk in on Tony going something he really didn't need to see. But, as he reached his dorm at the end of the hall, the room was silent. Bruce neared his ear to the door, but still, he couldn't hear anything. Maybe Tony had gone to the dorm of the girl he'd left with. Or maybe he was already asleep. Bruce laughed to himself in consideration of the second proposition as he opened the door to the dorm.

A muffled yell met him as he walked in the room. Bruce felt his heart skip a beat as he jerked his head up to see Tony sitting on the floor, shirtless, handcuffed to the railing of the bed, with what appeared to be a white shirt acting as a gag in his mouth. For a second, Bruce stood frozen in astonishment and general confusion. Tony shook his head violently and tried to yell through the gag again. At this trigger, Bruce flashed back into reality. He ran over to dark-haired boy and unknotted the gag around his mouth

"Fucking bitch!" Tony spit on the ground in front of him.

"What the hell happened?"

"Romanoff happened!"

"You went home with a girl who _hates you?_" he asked while trying to remove the handcuffs.

"She stuck her tongue down my throat! What was I supposed to think?"

"How long have you been here?"

"Two fucking hours! Why didn't you come here and check on me?"

"Check on you? Are you serious?" Bruce continued to struggle with the handcuffs. "'Oh hey, Tony,'" he mocked, "'Are you having sex? Oh, that's cool. I was just checking on you.' Dammit." The handcuffs wouldn't budge. "Is there a key? Wait," he suddenly realized, "where the hell did she get handcuffs?"

"Bitch just had them in her fucking purse! _Fuck!_" Tony tried to jerk his hand. "Open the second drawer of my desk."

Bruce walked over to Tony's table and opened the drawer. "Get the screwdriver."

"Why the fuck do you an electric screwdriver in your desk?" he asked, taking out the giant device.

"Doesn't matter—just undo the screws!"

After a few failed attempts and a few irritated remarks on Tony's part, Bruce finally broke Tony out of the handcuffs. The young man clutched at his wrists angrily for a minute before grabbing the MacBook charging on his bed and slapping it on the desk. "What are you doing now?" Bruce asked as the boy logged in.

"I'm gonna fuck them over for this," he hissed.

"Them?"

"Well, this obviously wasn't just _her _idea." Tony scoured the desk for some object, not bothering to stop when he dropped half his textbooks on the floor. Finally, he found a white flashdrive in one of his drawers and stabbed it into his laptop. Immediately, a program began to run on his screen.

"You think someone set her up to do this?"

"Definitely." The Marvel homepage that appeared on each of the students' personalized iPads popped up on the screen. Tony hit a couple letters, and, suddenly, the 'announcements' section was ready to edit. "I don't know enough about Loki, but, oh," he chuckled, "do I know about Clinton. Even _if_ all of this was _Natasha's _idea, I wonder how much she'll enjoy watching her little friend cry over his broken dignity," he concluded in a sarcastic falsetto voice.

"What could you possibly know about Clint Barton?" Bruce hadn't forgotten the few sunsets that he had watched with Clint near the island's edge. They hadn't spoken much, but he could tell the Clint was a good guy. He didn't deserve whatever Tony had in store.

"More than enough, trust me." Tony copied a link and posted it into the 'announcements' box. "They never really realize who they're fucking with, do they?" he said quietly while typing a few sentences into the textbox. "I'm Tony Stark; I'm number one." He positioned his mouse over the 'update' button. "And, as a matter of fact, being number one does mean _a damn thing_." Click.

X

**Since the Fall Formal had a lot going on and since this is my 10****th**** chapter, I thought this chapter should be longer than others. Thanks to everyone who read and commented and favorited, and I'm going to try to post a chapter every week from now on, so hopefully I can keep up with my own ambitions **** Hope everyone likes it!**


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